A.
m
M
s-*
?4
■f,\v' ■ , Milin
i_Mi
fm
k>r^^
, I .. « * ^t •
JAMES V.CHLOUPEK
,,Oe P.EASANT V.U.C^ -VENUE
OAKLAND. CAUFORN.A
UCSB LIBKAKV
TRANSFORMATION SCENE.
THEATRICAL
AND
CIRCUS LIFE;
OR,
SECRETS OF THE STAGE,
GREEN-ROOM AND SAWDUST ARENA.
EMBRACIN(i
V HISTORY OF THE THEATRE FROM SHAKESPEARE'S TIME TO THE PRESENl
DAY, AND ABOUNDING IN ANECDOTES CONCERNING THE MOST PROMI-
*NENT ACTORS AND ACTRESSES BEFORE THE PUBLIC; ALSO, A
COMPLETE EXroSITION OF THE MYSTERIES OF THE STAGE,
SHOWING THE MANNER IN AVHICH WONDERFUL SCENIC AND
OTHER EFFECTS ARE PRODUCED; "^HE ORIGIN AND
GROWTH OF NEGRO MINSTRELSY; THE MOST ASTON-
ISHING TRICKS OF MODERN MAGICIANS, AND A
HISTORY OF THE HIPPODROME, ETC., ETC.
Illustrated with Numerous Engravings and
Fine Colored Plates.
By JOHN J. JENNINGS.
CHICAOO:
(Tl()l)te E^iiblisiliiog Co.
l--nterc(\ accDrdiriK to Act of Congress, in the year iSS6, by
(JLOHK in;i?LISHING CO.,
Ill the nfticc- of the Lihr;iri;in of Congress, ;it Washington.
PROLOGUE.
The theatre and the circus, both sources of unlim-
ited amusement to the world, are also objects of the
greatest interest to all who have had even a single
peep at the stage or pressed their feet even once upon
the sawdust precincts of the tented show. The tricks
and illusions that are mystifying to nine-tenths of
those to whom they are presented rarely fail to be
productive of pleasure, and the performers, whether
before the foot-lights or within the circus ring, gen-
erally succeed in so thoroughly winning the hearts of
the public, that, though their faces, when the paint is
off and the atmosphere of glory has departed, might
not be recognized upon the street, their names are so
fixedly identified with the pleasant moments associated
with their art, that they become household words, and
are spoken, with admiration and praise, by all classes,
from the newsboy and bootblack up through the vari-
ous strata of society even to the ruler of the nation.
In presenting this volume to the public the inten-
tion has been to bring the player and the people into
closer relations, and by revealing the secrets of the
stage and sawdust arena to show that what appears at
first to be deep mystery and to many, who are bigoted
and averse to theatrical and kindred entertainments,
the blackest diabolism, is merely the result of the
simplest combinations of mechanical skill and studied
art, and is as innocent of the sinister character be-
stowed upon it as are the efforts of school children at
their annual exhibitions or the exercises of a Sabbath
School class before a row of drowsy and nodding church-
deacons. Fault may be found with the private lives
(3)
4 PROLOGUE.
of numbers of the members of the theatrical and cir-
cus profession, but the sins and shortcomings of indi-
viduals, can bo visited upon the entire class witii no
more justice than can the frailties of a few preachers
be applied generally to the pul])it, or the dishonesty
of a handful of lawyers be reflected u[)ou all the dis-
ciples of Blackstone in existence. Neither is it just to
class as theatres places of resort that do not deserve
the name — the "dives" and "dens" that are fre-
quented by disreputa])lc men and women whose low
tastes are catered to ])y men and women every bit as
disreputaljle as their patrons. Such establishments
receive, in this volume, only the severe treatment they
fully merit.
In explaining the mysteries of stage representa-
tions, and indicating the tricks of ring performances,
as well as in speaking of the })rivate lives of i)erformers
and giving biographies of the most noted actors and
actresses now before the pu])lic, an attempt has been
made to be perfectly accurate in every detail. The
anecdotal i)ortion of the book has likewise 'received
careful attention, and indeed every feature of the
work has been given due consideration, in the hope
that in and out of the profession, Theatkical and
Ciiicus Life may nieet with a favorable reception and
be regarded as worthy the subjects of which it treats.
Commending it to the kindness of all into whose
hands it falls; and assuring the inhabitants of the
mimic and real worlds, that, whatever construction
may l)e i)laced u[)on his sentences, naught but respect
and alTection is felt for the true and good men and
women of the stage, the author parts from his volume
regretting that it is not large enough to give everybody
a place in its pages, or to say as much about each in-
'Jividual as each deserves. J. 'h .1.
St. Louis, August 1, 1H82.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTEK I.
A I'UKLIMINAliY I'lCEP,
PAGES
Admission Fees — Cerberus at the Back Door — The Awe-
Stricken Stranger behind the Scene — Swarms of Ac-
tors and Emploj'ces — Description of Stage Settings —
The Green-Roora and Dressing-Room Explored — A
Visit to the Dressing-Tent of the Circus — An Act
that Beats anything of the kind in the World — The
Female Minstrel Gang and the Break-o'-Day Girls - 19-27
CHAPTER II.
A TIIEATKE OF SHAKESPEARE'S DAY.
Rude Carts as Primitive Stages — Followed by Stone Thea-
tres with Pits for Stages — Theatres of the Elizabetlian
Period — Sunday Theatres in the " Golden Age " —
Description of the Globe in Shakespeare's Time —
Plays in the Times of Henry VIII. — Sign-boards as
Scenes — Anecdote of Charles II. — The "Wits,"
"Clever" Men and the Vulgar Crowd — Pipes, Tank-
ards, and Gossip - ...... 28-36
CHAPTER III.
THE AMERICAN THEATRE.
Davy Garrick at Drury Lane, London — English Actors sail
for America — Vo}'age in the Charming Sally in 1752 —
The First American Tiieatre — The First Programme —
The First New York Theatre, 1753 — Tlie First Per-
formance in Philadelphia, April, 1754 — The First
Show in Boston, August, 1792 — The Priest and the
Spanish Lady — Elegant Theatres of the Present
Period 37-42
(5)
() CONTENTS.
CHAPTER IV.
AT THE STAGE-DOOR.
PAQKS
Front Door and Back Door Entrances — " Mashers " at the
"Stage-Door" — The Cerberus "who Stands Guard —
Perquisites Paid to Him — Bulkhead and the Ballet
Girls — The Tricks of the Scene Painter on the Girls —
The Girls' Revenge — Bold and Heartless Lovers —
Notes Pushed under the Drcssing-Room Door — Alice
Oates's Mash — Watching the Manu3uvres of the
"Mashers" — Tale of the Pink Synimetricals - - 43-54
CHAPTER V.
«
BEFORE THE FOOT-LIGHTS.
People who Patronize the Theatre — The Young Blood —
Members of the " Profesh " — The Giddy and Gushing
Usher — The Bouncer — The Peanut Cruncher — The
People who go out "Between Acts" — The Big Hat
Nuisance — Anecdote of George and Harry - - - C5-C8
CHAPTER VI.
BEHIND THE SCENES.
An Amateur Theatre — The Author's Experience as " Imp"
in a Spectacular Scene — \ Trip to the Moon - - C9-85
CHAPTER VII.
I\ Tin: 1>KESSING-1«)<)M.
Goodwin's " Make-up " for Hobbies — Booth and Company
Playing "Hamlet" in Street Costume — Dressing-
Roonis of Uld-Time and Present Theatres — Louis
Harrison Spoils a Play at San Francisco — How Actors
"Makeup" for Various Parts — Tin; Hair-Dresser
and (iie Actress SC.-IOS
CHAPTER Vill.
WmilN IIIK WINiiS.
The Stage Promi)ter and His Duties — Actors who " Stick"
and scnne who " Never Slick " — A Popular Actress and
CONTENTS.
PAGES
her Useful Husband — The Firemen's Amours — Mary
Anderson and Her Chewing-Gum — Emmet's Indiscre-
tions 106-121
CHAPTER IX.
STAGE CHARMS AND OMENS.
Burning of the Southern Hotel and Kate Claxton's Pres-
ence — Superstitions of John McCuUough, Eaymond,
Joe Jefferson, Sothern, Florehce, Booth, Chanfraii,
Byron, Tliorue, Neilson, Lotta, etc., etc. — Coui'tainc
andlnce 122-143
CHAPTER X.
NOT DOWN IN THE BILL.
Actors who Memorize whole Newspapers — Lovely Peggy —
Kean Dying as ho Played — Sol. Smith's Fuany Adven-
ture— A Masher made Serviceable — Charlotte Cush-
man and the Colored Bell-Boy who brought Down the
House — The Call-Boy's Revenge — The Lecturer,
Trick Candle and Trap Door — An English Performance
of William Tell 144-161
CHAPTER XI.
THE ILLUSIONS OP THE STAGE.
Mrs. Bellamy and Mr. St. Leger in Dublin — Rousseau's
Description of Paris Opera — Modern Mechanism — •
Producing Steam, Fire, Thunder, Lightning, etc. —
Olive Logan and her Jewels — Snow Storm in "The
Two Orphans" — Rain in "Hearts of Oalv " — Rivu-
lets in " Danites " — Funny Inventory of "Property "
in a London Theatre 162-182
CHAPTER XII.
MORE OF THE MYSTERIES.
The Property-Mau and lils Duties — Sunlight — Moon-
light— Twinliling of Stars — Ocean Waves — Fire in
" Phcenix " and " Streets of New York " — Full Descrip-
tion of the Famous Raft Scene ----- 183-104
8 CONTENTS.
CHAlTKIi XIII.
TIIK ARMY OF ATTACHES.
PACKS
Broken Down or "Crushed" Actors as Door-Kcepera —
The Treasurer of the Theatre — The Uslier — Orchestra
and Leader — Stage Manager — The Scenic Artist —
Tlie Stage Carpenter, Supes and Minor Attaches, and
Last but not Least the Call-Boy 195-205
CHAPTER XIV.
STAGE STRUCK.
The Young Man from Cahokia — The Box of Gags —
Stage Struck Girls of Louisville — Tlie College Graduate
from Illinois — "The Warrior Bowed His Crested
Head"— The "N. G." Curtain — Marie Dixon's Fail-
ure — Mrs. II. M. Lewis, of Charleston, Duped by
Schwab & Rummel — Harry Russell Tseudo "Mana-
ger"— A Colored Troop's Curious Epistle - - - 20G-22C
CHAPTER XV.
THK REHKAUSAI,.
Old-Time and Present Rehearsals — Olive Logan's Descrip-
tion of a Rehearsal — Rehearsal of the Corps de Bal-
let— Appearance of Tagliom, Cerito, Carlotta Grisi,
Lucile Grahn at Her Majesty's Theatre, in London - 227-240
CHAPTER XVI.
CANDIDATES FOR SHORT CLOTHES.
Advertising for Ballet Girls — Salaries Paid them — Who
Apply — Where the Can-Can Flourishes — The Ups and
Downs of a Ballet Girl's Life — The Nautch Dancers 241-250
CIIAI'TER XVII.
TRAINING BALLET DANCERS.
Interviewing Sig. J. F. Cardella — The French School
Theatre La Scala — Amount of Practice Reciuired — Tiie
American Ballet — Salaries of Premieres, Coryphees,
etc. — The Time Required — A Little Fond and Foolish
at Times 251-2C3
CHAPTF.R XVIII.
PLAYS AM) ri.AYWRIGHTS.
The Trials and Tribulations of the Gawky Young Drama-
CONTENTS. 9
PAGES
tist — English, French and American Playwrights —
The Desire for Foreign Plays — Bartley Campbell's
Christmas Story 264-275
CHAPTER XIX.
MASHERS AND MASHIXG.
Gunakophagists or Woman-Eaters — Corner Loafers —
Mashers of the Profession — Female Mashers — The
* Blonde Beauties of the Leg Drama — Model Letter —
Lillian Russell's Escapades — " Patti " and the Midget
"Foster" — The Old Masher Squeezed — The Girl in
Red Tights at Uhrig's Cave — Music and Mashing - 27C-296
CHAPTER XX.
THE MAIDEN AND THE TENOR.
Ambleleg — His Soul Full of Art and Throat Full of
Music — Miss Justaytine the Pink of Beauty and Per-
fection of Belleship — The Chorus Singer Mashed on
the Maiden — The Mash Mutual — The Brother and
Lover Mash the Tenor — Suit for ^10,000 and the Com-
promise 29G-a02
CHAPTER XXI.
FISHING FOR FREE PUFFS.
A First-Class Puff in a Leadville Paper — All Anxious to
Appear in Print — Various Ways of Puffing — Sending
Photos — Diamond Robberies — Falling Heir to a For-
tune, etc. — Minnie Palmer's Artless Display of Un-
derwear— The Abbott Kiss — Catherine Lewis Fling —
Emelie Melville's Presents to Critics — The Morning
Buzzard and the Evening Crow - - - - - 303-314
CHAPTER XXII.
THE ACTRESS AND THE INTERVIEWER.
All Performers must Meet the Interviewing Fiend — How
the Interviewer is Received by Patti, Nilsson, Gerster,
Kellogg, Cary, Ilauk, Abbott, Bernhardt, Morris, Mod-
jeska, Neilson, Andei'son, Davenport, Mitchell, Lotta,
and Others 316-319
CHAPTER XXIII.
A FEW FOOT-LIGHT FAVORITES.
Mistress Woffington — Children as Actors and Actresses —
10 CONTENTS.
PAfiE.S
Little Corinne — Debut of Emma Livry — Nell Gwynuc
the Fish Girl — Lola Montez, the Pretty Irish Girl —
Adali Isaiics Menken as Mazeppa — Mar}' Anderson the
Tragedienne — Lotta and Maggie Mitchell, and a Host
of Others a20-342
CHAPTER XXIV.
CHINESE AND JAPANESE THEATRICALS.
Great Length of the Play — Description of a phinese Thea-
tre— The Prompter — The Audience — The Actors —
The Musicians — Japanese Theatres — No "Reserved
Seats"— Prices of Admission — Side Shows - - 3-t3-.'552
CHAPTER XXV.
OPKRA AND OPERA SINGERS.
Palmo, the Father of Italian Opera in America — Interview
with Col. Mapleson — The Cost of Rigging a Com-
pany— What it Costs Every Time the Curtain is Rung
Up — Mme. Grisi's Superstition — The Best Operas —
Salaries of Singers — Neilson and the Diamond Mer-
chant 353-300
CHAPTER XXVI.
THE MINSTREL BOYS.
Emmet, Brower, Whltlock and Pelham among the Earliest —
Pot-Pie Herbert — Daddy Rice and Jim Crow — Zip
Coon — Coal Black Rose — My Long Tail Blue — Early
Days of George Cliristy — Minstrel Men Generally Im-
provident— Minstrel Men as Mashers — Ilaverly's Mas-
todon Minstrels — The Boys at Rehearsal - - - 3C7-381
CHAPTER XXVII.
l-ANIOMIME.
George L. Fox, tlie King — G. H. Adams, liis Successor —
Boxing Night in London 382-388
CHAPTKR X.WIII.
VARIETY DIVES AND CONCERT SALOONS.
FirBt-Class Varieties — Harry Hill's Famous Resort — In-
terview with Harry Hill — Ida and Johnnie — Deacons
in a Dive — The Bouncer at Work — The Cow-Boy's
Call for Mary — The Can-Can — Music by Bands —
Over the Rhine 389-415
CONTENTS. 11
CHAPTER XXIX.
A TEAM OF IRISH COMEDIANS.
PAGES
Ginnis the Alderman ---.... 41G-429
The Song and Dance Men — Ilarrigan & Hart — Levi Mc-
CH AFTER XXX.
THE BLACK ART.
Sword Swallowers — Jugglers in America, Europe, China,
and Hindoostan — Herman Sells the Barbers — Her-
man Sold by the "Boys" — Wonderful Chinese Jug-
glers— How Ladies are Suspended iu Mid-Air — How
to Eat Fire — Walk on Red Hot Iron — Cut off a Man's
Head, etc., etc. 430-439
CHAPTER XXXI.
THE INDIAN BOX AND BASKET TRICK.
The Trick-Box — The Board — The Basket — The Magi-
cian's " Ghost Story " 440-448
CHAPTER XXXII.
*
VENTRILOQUISM.
Prof. Kennedy and Val Vose — Louis Brabant Valet de
Chambre to Francis I. Wins Wife and Fortune through
his Wonderful Gift — M. St. Gille and his Wonderful
Exploits — Alexandre and the Load of Hay — The De-
lusion Fully Explained — How to do it — The Suffo-
cated Victim .-- 449-458
CHAPTER XXXIII.
ON THE ROAD.
Making Dates at the " the Square " — Copy of Contracts —
Billing the Town — The Cyclonic Advance Agent - 459-465
CHAPTER XXXIV.
THE GREEN-EYED AND OTHER MONSTERS.
The Street Arabs and Lotta — The Stage at the Beginning
of the Eighteenth Century — Little "Accidents" of
Bernhardt and Indiscretions of Patti — " Sudden John-
nie " and Colombier — Lizzie McCall's Crime — Miss
Bertha Welby and Miss Cleves — The " Old Gray " and
the Skipping Rope Dancer — Husband and Wife and
Ballet Girl — Mephistopheles and Venus - - -466-483
12 CONTENTS.
CHAPTER XXXV.
JOHN WILKES BOOTH, PRESIDENT LINCOLN'S ASSASSIN.
PACKS
Shooting of Abraham Lincoln — Booth's Rehearsal at Wal-
lack's — All Old Actor's Opinion of J. W. Booth — His
Eichard the IH. a Fine Piece of Acting — Booth and
Collier as Eichard and Eichmond 484-491
CHAPTER XXXVI.
THE SUMMEK VACATION.
How the Stars and Lesser Lights Disport Themselves —
Actors at the Seaside — The *' Old Gray " Surprises the
Actors at the Banquet — Millions Spent upon Theatri-
cals .... 4<i2-501
CHAPTER XXXVn.
FUN AMONG THE ELKS.
Who the "-Elks" are — .Tughandle's Friend Wants to be an
Elk — Getting the Candidate Ready— The High iMuck-
a-Muck — The Peculiar Circle — The Descent — The
Path of Progress — The Upward Flight to Glory —
Down ! Down ! ! Down! ! ! -«- On " Elncycle " —The
Merciful Net -An Elk 602-511
CHAPTER XXXVIir.
THE CIRCUS IS HERE.
The Disengaged Canvasman's Poetry — Circus Posters —
The Grand Parade — The 825,000 Beauty — Twelve
Ponies and Forty Horses on a Rampage — Henry Clay
Scott and his Aged Father — Sold his Stove to go to
the Circus 512-521
CHAPTER XXXIX.
UNDER THE CANVAS.
The Small Boy and the Circus — Beating the Show — Slack
Wire and Balloon Performances — Donaldson's 111-
Fatcd Trip — Frightful Accident in Mexico — Circus
Green-Room and Dressing- Rooms — The Clown — Bare-
back Riders and Tumblers — Merryman's Admission
Fee — The Clown's Baby 522-r.35
CHAPTER XL.
AIUOHATICS AND EQUESTRIANISM.
Training Clilldrcn — Olive Logan on the Circus — Trajjezc
CONTENTS. 13
PAGES
Performers — Tight Kope Feats — Training Riders —
Tlie Leading Equestrienne — Tlie Great English Rider,
Miss Lily Deacon — The Georgia Lady's Experience —
Cow-Boys Raid on the Ring ... - - 536-552
CHAPTER XLI.
A ROMANCE OF THE RING.
Shadowville — Miss Nannie Florenstein, the most Wonder-
ful Bareback Rider in the World — Her Cruel Task-
master— Nod Struthers to the Rescue — 'All's Well
that Ends Well" 553-562
CHAPTER XLII.
LEAPING AND TUMBLING.
The Athlete of Ancient Rome — Grand and Lofty Tum-
bling of To-day — Double and Triple Somersaults - 5G3-57I
CHAPTER XLIIL,
AN ADVENTURE WITH GIANTS.
Capt. M. V. Bates and Wife— The Tallest Couple In the
World — The Eat Woman and the Living Skeleton —
The Circassian Girl 572-580
CHAPTER XLIV.
THE TATTOOED TWINS.
The "Ad." in the Morning Paper — Capt. Costentenus —
The Modus Operandi- — ^Henneberry and the "Old
Salt " — Singular Story Told by Henry Frumell — Tat-
tooed by South Pacific Savages - . . . 581-589
CHAPTER XLV.
IN TUB MENAGERIE.
Zazel Shot out of a Cannon — The Zulus — Gen. Tom
Thumb and Wife — Thumb and Campanini — Hugged
and Kissed by an Ape — Millie Christine the Famous
Two-Hoadcd Lady — The Eighth Wonder of the
World — Jocko Spoils a Comedy — Circus in Winter
Quarters 590-608
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE,
Froxtispiece (Colorkd Platk) 1
Stage of Modern Theatre - 18
Lotta 22
Interior of Modern Theatre 3G
Decorating a Scene Painter 47
The "Masher" '- - 56
Tlie Big Hat 61
George and Harry - - 63
Louise Montague 64
Maud Brausconibc - - - 65
Selina Dolaro - . . o8
John McCullougli - 70
Belle Howitt 73
John A. Stevens . . - 76
Lillie West - - 79
Pauline Markiiam (Colored Plate') .... 80
Adah Isaac Menken 83
Millie La Fonte 85
Ballet Girl's Dressinir-Boom 87
Edwin Booth 89
McKee Rankin --...-..- 91
The Throe Villas 93
Sarah Bernhardt 96
The Late Adelaide Neilson 99
Dressing an Ad rcss' Hair 102
Marie Roze . - - 105
In the Green-Room 106
A Green-Room Tableau 107
Getting their "Lines" .------- 109
Milton Nobles 110
Improving Spare Moments - 112
An Actress' Useful Husband 113
Making Love in the Side Sci lies - - - - - 115
M'lle Geraldine and Little Gerry - - - - 117
Sobering a Comedian 120
McCull(<ugh as Virginius 121
Kate Claxton 123
The Late Venie Clancie - - 126
Catherine Lewis ... - - - 128
Chanfrau - - - 131
Fanny Davenport 134
Dion Boucicault 136
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 15
PAGE.
Mrs. Boucicault ..-.----. 136
Maud Granger ---------- 139
Portia and Shylock - - - - - - - - - 143
Lizzie McCall - - - » - - - - - - - 145
Pin up my Skirts --------- 148
Annie Pixley as M'liss - - - - - - - - 150
The Call Boy's Reveniie - - - ----- 151
Thos. W. Keene --------- 154
Emma Thursby --------- 156
Lillian Russell . - 153
Joe Jefferson ---------- 159
Roland Reed - - - - - - - - - - ICO
Lizzie Webster (Colored Plate) - - - - - IGO
Lawrence Barrett - - IGl
J. K. Eramett ---------- 164
John T. Raymond - - - 166
Katherine Rogers --------- 168
Josephine D'Orme - 170
Fendinand and Miranda - - - - - - - - 173
Lester Wallack . . - - 175
Clara Morris ---------- 177
Helen Dingeon - . - - 178
Scott-Siddons -----'-.--- I8I
John Parselle ----------] 84
Sol Smith Russell - - - - 187
Rose Coghlan ---------- 189
The Raft Scene - - - - ----- 192
Minnie Hauk ---------- 197
Helping the Scene Painter ------- 20I
The Old Woman of the Company - - 204
The Esthetic Drama -------- 205
Kitty Blanchard --------- 209
Mrs. Langtry - . . , 213
Marie Prescott as Parthenia - - - - - - - 217
Mme. Fanny Janauschek - - 222
Rose Eytinge 226
Agnes Booth - - - 230
"Now then, Ladies and Gentlemen, all ToreUier" - - 234
Training Ballet Dancers 235
National Dances ..-----.. 237
Marion Elsiore (Colored Plate) - - - . - 240
Drilling for the Chorus -------- 245
The "Sucker" 248
Donna Julia's Eyes -, = -,---- 253
16
LIST OF ILLUSTIIATIONS.
PAGE.
Obcron and Titauia 255
Measuring for the Costume 257
M. B. Curtis 260
A Premiere before the Audience 262
A Bowery "Masher" 276
Lady Macbeth 278
Working a Greeny at a Matinee 280
From one of the Mashed 282
Adelina Patti's "Mash" 287
J. II. Haverly 288
A Monkey Spoiling a Mash 292
Ambleleg 295
Serving a Writ on Fauny Davenport 304
Ernesti Rossi 307
Slippers for Free Puffs 311
Miss C()NNOI,LY (COLORKD PlATE) 320
Little Corinnc 322
Taglioni Congratulating Emma Livry 326
Lotta 332
Maggie Mitchell 333
Emma Abbott 334
Called before the Curtain ' 338
Fay Templeton 342
Chinese Theatre 348
Ciiinese Property Room 351
Minnie Maddern 352
Crowning a Tenor - - 356
Patti 359
Gerster 361
George Christy 370
You are the Sort of Man I Like 373
Jim Crow 378
G. H. Adams 382
Fencing Scene in Black Crook 390
Mad. Thoo 392
Gus Williams 394
She Tickled Ilim Under the Ciiiii 399
M'lle Genf:vieve (Colored Plait.) 400
Armado and Jaquenetta 402
Laura Don -- 404
Benedick and Beatrice 405
Materna 406
Thatcher, Primrose and Wvkt 407
A "Bowery" on a Lark 408
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 17
PAGE.
Concert Saloon Band 410
Female Band - - . . . m
Female Orchestra - - 412
James O'Neill '?. 413
An Ideal Masher -._ 414
Edwin Ilarrigan 417
Tony Hart 418
Herman's Sell . . . . 432
The Box Trick, Fig. 1 440
The Box Trick, Fig. 2 441
The Box Trick, Fig. 3 441
The Box Trick, Fig. 4 -442
The Box Trick, Fig. 5 443
On the Road --. 405
The McCall Tragedy 472
Blackmailing an Actress 474
Jealousy ---. 47g
Edward Kendall 473
Out in the Cold 480
John Wilkes Booth 485
Scene from Grand Duchess - - 493
John W. Norton - 496
Mary Anderson (Colored Plate) - - . . . 496
A Candidate in Regalia - 504
Muck-a-Muck ---- 508
The Circus World - - - - * 512
Twenty-five Thousand Dollar Beauty 517
Adam Forepaugh - - - - - ... . 520
Beating the Circus 623
W. H. Donaldson 525
Catalina Georgio's Frightful Death - - . . . 526
Bareback Riding 537
Trapeze - - 539
Mdme.Lasalle 542
Annie Li\aNGSTONE (Colored Plate) .... 545
Circus Riders --- 546
Dan Rice _ ^^ . . 55O
A Human Pyramid ------.--. 562
Leaping 565
Bicycle Riding --" - 571
Giant and Giantess - - 579, 580
Performing Elephants - - - 596
Jumbo 699
Curtain 608
.STAOK OF A modi:kn 1 1 1 i:a 1 lUI,
CHAPTER I.
A PRELIMINARY PEEP.
Anybody can get into the auditoriuin of a theatre
by paying an admission fee reaching from twenty-five
cents up to $1.50, and the sawdust precincts of the
circus may be penetrated for the modest sum of fifty
cents ; but behind the curtain of the theatre and beyond
the screeneddoor through which circus attractions enter
tlie exhibition arena, are sacred places, witli secrets
that are so valua])le to their owners that they dare not
for less than a small fortune allow the public to view
or even to understand them. A general knowledge
of the simplicity of theatrical and circus tricks — of
the delusions that make up the stock in trade of show-
men generally — would destroy their value as salable
articles, and make everybody a little Barnum or Jack
Haverly of his own, with ability to furnish himself
with amusement at home, while the former masto-
donic managers could only look on and weep at the
educational facilities with which the country was over-
run, and mourn the Shakespearian days when people
were easily pleased with the poverty-ridden stage and
bare representations that were ofi^ered them. But
there is no fear that the public will ever be instructed
up to such a high degree in regard to the inside work-
ings of the theatre and circus, that there \vill not at
all times be plenty of patrons for both these excellent
forms of entertainment. The manao-ers take a-ood care
(19)
20 A PRELIMINARY PEEP.
to keep their secrets to themselves, ;is those "who go
jjiying around the shrines in which the theatric arcana
arc held, very soon find out. At the back door of
every theatre — the entrance to the stage — is a cer-
berns of the most pronounced kind, who would sooner
bite his own grandfather's ear off than allow anybody
not entitled to the privilege, to i)ass him ; Avhile at the
door of the circus dressing-room and all around it are
faithful sentinels who wmII listen to no password, and
through whose ranks it is as impossible to break as it
is for the fat boy in the side show to throw a double
somersault over seventeen horses, w^ith an elephant as
big as Jumbo at the far end of the line. It will, how-
ever, be the proud privilege of the readers of this book
to get as close to the secrets of the staije and sawdust
arena as one can well do without knowing absolutely all
about them, and by the time the last page isTead and
the volume is ready to be closed, I think the readers
will be both deliirhted and astonished with the revela-
tions that have been made.
Turn the average man loose on the stage of a theatre
at night, while a play is going on, and it is a Kussian
kobol against a whole San Juan mining district that he
will not know whether he lias struck the seventh circle
of heaven or is in a lunatic asylum. He w^ill meet
some very queer creatures in the scenes ; he will see
many strange things; the brilliant lights around him,
the patches of color flashing into his eyes, thesea of
faces and the tangle of millinery in the auditorium, will
mystify him ; the startling streaks of black upon the
faces of the men ami women who Jostle him as he
closely hugs the wings, their red noses and blooming
cheeks, the general tomato-can aspect of their faces,
the sha</<ry wisrs and stra2:i;lin<; beards that look as if
they had been torn off the back of a goat only ten
A PRELIMINARY PEEP. 21
minutes before ; the dismal, commonplace clothes that
shine so radiantly when seen from a chair hi the par-
quette or dress circle, — all these things will set his poor
brain in a whirl ; and whiie he is looking on awe-stricken,
the scene shifters will come rushing down upon him
with a new delusion, trampling on his toes in a manner
that suggests in a most potential way his superfluity in
that particular jjlacc, and pushing him aside without the
merest apology, and perhaps with no other remark than
a fragment of fervent profanity, as if he were a wretched
street Arab in that mimic world in which the scene
shifter and the captain of the " supers " play such very
important parts. People come out of every imagina-
ble place all around him. There seem to be doors
everywhere, — in the walls, the floor, the ceiling, and
even in space; and as the "vasty deep" and the
rest of the surroundings give up their dwellers, the in-
truder receives fresh jolts and thrusts, and possibly
additional donations of profanity. This, of course,
applies only to the male apparitions that overwhelm
the strange visitor to the new world behind the scenes.
Thp female portion of that illusory sphere have noth-
ing to say to him except with their eyes, which very
forcibly inquire the meaning of his presence there.
If a person would like to understand how awfully
strange and lonely it will be for the last individual left
alive upon earth, he need only pay a first visit to the
stage of a theatre where he is not acquainted with any
of the actors or actresses, and has not even the pleasure
of knowing one of the minor attaches. Any attempt to
form an acquaintance is promptly and unmistakably
repelled, and all the poor unfortunate has to do is to
move up where he is out of everybody's way, and
he can look on and wonder to his heart's content. As
he inspects his surroundings and has his attention called
22
A PRELIMINARY PEEP
to the actions of the people whose business it is to
place the stage in shape for an act or scene of a play,
ho will readily comprehend the meaning of forming a
world out of chaos. If they are getting ready the
y.
L.
LOTTA,
balcony scene for " Komeo and -Juliet," wing pieces are
pushed out to rt[)r('sent trees and the side of the house
of the Cai)ulct6 — and what a house it usually is, too,
A I'KELIMINAKY PEEP. 23
for such elegiiiit people ! The front of the house is
rapidly placed in position })etween two wings, the bal-
cony is quickly nailed on, and with the aid of a rude
scaffolding behind the scene and a ladder, the fair Juliet
mounts, and, feeling her way carefully, at last. steps out
upon the frail structure to tell the sweet moon her love
for Romeo. The whole thins: looks ridiculous. Even the
stately daughter of the Capulets has not beauty or skill
enough to remove the absurditv from the scene which has
the appearance of being, and is in reality nothing else
than wood and canvas freely splashed with paint of
the proper colors. A painted box represents a stone ;
a green carpet passes for grass ; the beautiful bric-a-
brac that opens the eyes of the aesthetic people in the
audience is only brown paper hurriedly daubed by the
scene painter's apprentice; the wall of the Capulets'
garden is a very frail canvas concern, and the floral
attributes are frauds of the deepest dye from the scenic
artist's long table of colors. The whole picture is
simple, but unintelligible to the looker-on for the first
time, and as he vanishes through the door he laughs
heartily at the very thin disguise tragedy and comedy
are required to put on to delude and please the public.
Let him return to the theatre in the mornins: and
view its mysteries shorn of the dazzle and splendor
that the night brings. He will be more astonished
still. The place is usually as dark as a dungeon, there
being something peculiar in the construction of the-
atres which makes them brio;ht at ni2:ht and dismal
during dajdight. If a stray slant of light falls any-
where upon the stage it will be rudely mocked by the
bits of burning candle by the aid of which the stage
carpenter is at work right in the very sjsot where,
twelve hours before, Romeo and Juliet lived and died
for each other in such a lamental)ly pathetic way that
24 A PRELIMINARY I'EEP.
the audience shed tears, and only gave the hichrymal
rainstorm a rest at intervals long enough to shower
the star with ap2)ldusc. The stage carpenter's assist-
ant is there too, the machinist, the scene painters, the
men who have charge of the company's baggage, the
property man, and others. They fill the scene in a
lugubrious and whollj' uninteresting way, — all are at
work, and as heedless of the attendance of strangers as
the actors and stao;e hands of the nii^iit before had
been. The scenes have lost their color — such as are
left, and this mimic world that hud its admiring and
aspiring hundreds is as bare and desert-like as a bald
head after its owner has been using hair restoratives
for about six months. It has neither shape nor any
suggestion of its whilom beauty and attractiveness.
The green-room may be explored, and the dressing-
rooms, but they will reveal nothing ; their former oc-
cupants are probably still abed, and unless there is to
be a rehearsal they will not be seen around again until
7 o'clock at nijj^ht. He must not be too searching in
his explorations or the attention of the attaches will be
attracted, and the conversation that will follow may
not be the most pleasant in the world to him. Moving
down the stairs that lead to the space under the stage,
the explorer will find it dai-ker and more dungeon-like
still, and even if it were li<::ht nothing could bo seen
but the steam boiler, for heating and power purposes,
the ventilating ai)i)aratus, the numerous trap-door
openings and the posts about them, with a few other
accessories that are hardly worth mentioning. Again
he will l)e forced to confess that everything is very
simple, but he cannot understand any part of it, and
again he goes uway with a laugli on his lips and mer-
riment in his heart because the people are so easily
A PRELIMINARY PEEP. 25
pleased, and theatrical managers find it so easy to
entertain them.
A visit to the dressino--tent of the circus will be
equally barren of appreciable results. He can see the
dazzling costumes, the shapely limbs of the females,
the gaily-caparisoned steeds, the red gold-laced coats
of the supers, and a chaotic heaping up of a number
of indescribable articles, but behind the canvas screen
that divides the tent lie secrets that he must not
attempt to penetrate, for there are the lives, the lies
and the fascinations of the performers. There, awk-
ward limbs receive their roundly shaping, and old age,
by a magic touch with the elixir of the " make-up "
box, puts on the masquerading bloom of youth. The
same might, to some extent, be said of the dressing-
rooms of the theatre, only the application could not
be as wide or general as in the circus profession, for
the lives these people lead soon lay waste their beauty
if they happen to be young, and crowd senility upon
them long before the usual time. Their work is always
hard, their surroundings are of the very worst kind,
they grow up in an atmosphere of fraud, and they
necessarily learn early the arts of deception whereby
their employers make fame and fortune. But I have
taken a stranger into the dressing-tent, and I nmst not
abuse the hospitality of the place by exposing its sins
in his presence. The stranger is introduced all around,
shakes hands with everybody, even the premiere
equestrienne, or, perhaps, the charming and daring
little lady who is twice daily shot out of a cannon, and
besides makes two headlong dives a day from the dome
of the tent into the net spread beneath. All are glad
to see him, and he is surprised to find that the two
Indians who juggle fire-brands and do other feats not
at all consistent with the traditions of the aborigines,
26 A rUELIMINARY PEEP.
have not sufficient savaj^e blood in their veins to make
respectable cigar store signs, but are base counterfeits
of the noble red man, ap[)lications of chocolate and
vermilion to their faces, and the usual accompaniment
of black hair, feathers, and deerskin clothing having
bestowed upon them all the air of the child of the
forest that they possessed. As the band sounds the
music for the riding act the equestrienne's horse
dashes tamely into the ring, and the gentlemanly
agent of the show pushes the visitor out to have him
" look at an act that beats anything of the kind in the
world."
As in the material or mechanical features of the
show there are mysteries of the most interesting and
instructive kind, so, too, the personal features of the
realm of entertainment — the great world of amuse-
ment— contain much that will not only surprise, but
will tickle the unsophisticated. By lifting the veil the
least bit, the reader can have a peep at the most at-
tractive of the events and incidents that go to make
the romantic career of an actor or actress. There are
various little things that look simple and innocent
enough when they appear in tiie shape of a newspaper
paragraph that contain a world of meaning to the ini-
tiated. There are methods of getting and keeping
players before the; })ublic of which the latter know no
more than they do of the wife of the man in the moon.
There are flagrant scandals mingling with the innocent
revels of these masquerading people, and there are,
too, some of the saintliost, sweetest, manliest and
womanliest of individuals in a profession that almost
the entire world looks upon willi the wildest suspi(Mon,
and whose briirht names and fair fames can never be
tarnished by the inifpiitous doings of persons lower
and less respectable in character. Jn all that will l)e
A PRELIMINARY PEEP. 27
written here regarding the dark side of tlieatrical life,
I wisli it distinctly understood that there is no desire
or intention to cast even the slightest reflection upon
the honored and respected members of a grand pro-
fession, and wherever a seemingly sweeping and un-
complimentary statement may be made, the reader
will be kind enouijh to add a savins: clause in favor of
all those who do not deserve such condemnation. In
the concert saloon, the variety den, the boys' theatre,
and the numerous other dives in which vice parades
boldly and nakedly, will be found ample field for
trenchant and graphic writing. These pits of infamy
flourish everywhere, and are as freely patronized as
the charms of their female attractions are freely dis-
played ; the girls in short dresses, in gleaming tights,
with padded bust and cotton-rounded limbs, their se-
ductive wiles, their beer-thirstiness, their reckless
familiarity with male friends and strangers, alike from
the beardless boy of fourteen to the bald and wither-
ing roue, the ample freedom with which they throw
themselves into the arms of victims and give them-
selves up to the most outrageous revels ; the female
minstrel gang and the break-o'-day girls, who supple-
ment their sins on the stage with subsequent and even
more surprising iniquity in the hop or dance that fol-
lows the show, — all these phases of the lower strata
of theatrical life, as being more productive of interest-
ing secrets of a so-called stage, must be touched upon,
that the reader may be able to contrast the extremes
of the amusement world, and understand that in mimic
as well as real life, there are abject misery and squalid
sinfulness while, above all, shines the grand and stain-
less character of the noble and pure-minded people
who bring genius and virtue to the profession of
which they are bright, shining ornaments.
CHAPTEll ir.
A THEATRE OF SIIAKESPEAIIE's DAY.
If some of the old Greek dramatists could shake to-
gether their ashes and assume life, thoy Avould open
their ancient eyes to look upon the beauty, comfort,
and charming symmetry of the first-class theatre of
the present day. The ancients were at first obliged
to put up with representations given upon rude carts ;
afterwards stone theatres were constructed, with the
performers placed in a pit in the middle space, but no
such effort at decoration, or to provide for the con-
venience of spectators, was to be seen as is to be found
everywhere now. The plays, too, while they may
have been delightful to our Hellenic })redecessors,
would hardly draw a corporal's guard at the present
time, when spectacular melodrama is all the rage,
and the only chorus the average theatre-goer cares to
see is the aggregation of pretty girls in entrancing
tights, and with the utmost scantiness of clothes to
hide their personal charms, who sing the concerted
music in comic oi)era. This is the kind of chorus that
sends a thrill of ecstacy through the heart, and around
the res[)londent dome of thought of the much-maligned
modern l)al(l-head. The strophe and anti-strophe of
the ancient drama would set the nineteenth century
citizen crazy as a wild man of Borneo. The ancient
drama was gradually replaced by the ecclesiastical
drama, — the mystery or mirach; play, — an example of
(28)
A THEATRE OF SHAKESPEARE 's DAY. 29
which remains to us in the celebrated " Passion
Phiy," performed at Obarammergan at stated intervals,
and over the projected production of which, in this
country, there was so much trouble that the play was
never produced. In this style of drama, events in the
life of the Savior, or the great mysteries of the church,
were the topics dealt with by the saintly play-wright,
and the actors personated characters ranging from
the Devil up through the various grades of saintliness
and angelic beatification to God Almighty himself.
The miracle play flourished during the middle ages,
and survived down almost to the Elizabethan period,
when Shakespeare appeared upon the scene ; and with
his advent there came a revolution, the outgrowth of
which is the present perfect and beautiful theatre.
The change in the style of plays brought a change in
the style of places for their representations, and while
the Bard of Avon was making his reputation in
the dramatic line, the Globe and Blackfriars were
leading the way to advancement in the matter of the-
atrical structures. They had performances on Sun-
day in those olden times, and while good Christians
were worshipping God in their sanctuaries, the iinde-
vout Britons of the "golden age" were worshipping
Thespis in his.
Let us drop back into a theatre of the Shakespearian
epoch, some Sunday afternoon when the weather is
fine, and you will not be compelled to stand bare-
headed in the pit. Let us go to the Globe. It was
situated on the Bankside. It was a wooden build-
ing, of hexagonal sh:ipe, open to the sky, and
partly thatched. To a little tower-like projection from
the roof was fastened a staff of no inconsideral)le
height, from which always fluttered the flag of Eng-
land. Windows were sparsely distributed here and
there, on each side of the building, while over the door
30 A THEATRE OF SHAKESrEARE's DAY.
was displayed the figure of Hercules bearing the clobc
upon his brawny shoulders. Whether the mythologi-
cal giant came with his terrestrial burden to dedicate,
171 propria persona, this temple to the mightiest of the
muses, or whether the whole thing was only a cunning
contrivance of some skilful artisan, eml)odying the
conception of a clever play writer, history does not
record .
Whenever a play was to be enacted, the entrance to
the Globe was always jammed with footl)oys, eager
for a chance to hold a fjentleman's horse, or lonnirin<'^
gallants, who collected to show themselves and to ogle
the ladies as they entered. It was a lively sjiectacle,
as stiff dames and ruffled noblemen, poor artisans and
sleek gallants, wits and critics, footmen and lal)orers
and ragged urchins stepped forward to pay the admit-
tance fee of a shilling or a sixpence, or to make a re-
spectful offer of their credit, which was usually most
disrespectfully condemned as unlawful tender. It was
a lively sight as gouty old gentlemen flourished huge
batons over the scrajj-iry heads of malicious l)ovs who
jostled them purposely ; as titled old dames in im-
mense flaring petticoats endeavored to smooth their
noble wrinkles, and look mincing and modest under
the impertinent gaze of the bedizened fops, and as the
fops themselves twisted and l)ent and l)o\vc'd and
shook tiieir powdered wigs, twirled their glove-fingers,
or turned out their toes fastidiously, at the imminent
risk of dislocating their tarsals.
But let U3 enter with the crowd and observe the in-
ternal economy of the theatre, and the; charatiter of
the performance. Though externally hexagonal, the
building within is circular in form. There is no roof,
as before intimated, and the exhiI)itions occurring only
in the summer and in i)leasant weather, the air is
A THEATRE OF SHAKESPEARE' 8 DAY. 31
always serene and pure, and the audience requires no
protection from storms or wind. In the centre of the
enclosure is the pit, as in modern play-houses. Here,
" the understanding gentlemen of the ground," as
Ben Jonson has it, revelled in the delights of the
drama at sixpence a head ; the bosom of the earth
their sole footstool, and the blue canopy of heaven
their only shelter. The " great unwashed did congre-
gate " upon this spot, sometimes in immense numbers,
to luxuriate at once in Shakespeare and tobacco ; for
be it known, the ancient theatres of London were to
the working classes very much what its modern porter
and beer shops are. They were places of resort where
tradesmen and tradesmen's wives assembled to gossip
and smoke and steep.
Surrounding the pit upon all sides except where the
stage completed the circle, were the boxes or rooms, as
they were called. In these were assembled those who
could lay claim to rank or wealth. They were fur-
nished Avith wooden benches — a luxury of which the
pit could never boast, and which was purchased for a
shilling. It will be observed, from what has been said,
that the internal arrangements of the ancient theatres
were upon precisely the same plan as those of the
modern. The cause of this identity of structure may
be easily traced. As. late as the reign of Henry VIII.,
it was customary to enact plays and pageants in the
courts of inns. These were usually quadrangular in
form, with balconies or piazzas projecting into the
court, and corresponding with the stories of the build-
ing. The stage was erected near the entrance-gate,
and occupied one entire side of the quadrangle. The
inn-yard thus formed the pit or parquette, for the ac-
commodation of the " understandino; o-entlemen,"
while the balconies or rooms (rising al)ove each other
32 A THEATRE OF lSHAKESPEARe's DAY.
ill tiers varying Avitli the miinbcr of stories) corrc-
sponded to tlie boxes. It wiis from this crude, origi-
nal conception that the architects of Queen Elizabeth's
re'is^n fashioned the Globe and Blackfriars, and from
thence has it come down to the present day.
Directly in front of the pit was the stage, protected
by a woollen curtain. Unlike modern " drops," it was
divided in the middle, and suspended by rings from
an iron rod. When the performance was about to
commence it was drawn aside — opening from the
middle ; the rolling up process is an achicvment of
some later mind.
Hark ! Do you hear the gentle grating, the jin-
gling, the rustling of Avoollen ? Without the slightest
premonitory symptoms there has been a rupture of
the curtain, and the mysteries it so securely hid are
most unexpectedly revealed. Seated upon wooden
stools or reclining upon the rushes with which the
stage is strewn, are a number of individuals com-
posedly smoking long pipes, whom the unsophisti-
cated might take for actors. Far from it ; they are
the perpetual bane of actors — wits and gallants, who
delifrht in nothinnf so much as in exhibiting themselves
for the public to admire, or confusing the actors by
their pleasantries and disturbing the progress of the
play.
Protrudininr from the further wall of the staijc is a
balcony, supported on wooden pillars, and ilanked by
a pair of boxes in which those who rejoiceil in be-
ing singular or who could not afford tlie full price of
admission Avere accommodated. The balcony was
used by the actors. It served as tlic rostrum when a
largo company was to be addressed ; it was the throne
of kings and pi'incos, the grand judgmont-seatof mighty
um[)ires, and in cases of necessity was convenient as the
A THEATRE OF SHAKESPEARE' S DAY. 33
first-stoiy window of an imaginiiry dwelling-house.
For this latter purpose it was particularly useful in
the o;;irden scene between Romeo and Juliet. But
while we have been delaying in description, the rushes
upon the boards have rustled, the actors have made
their appearance, and the business of the play has
commenced.
For the purpose of illustrating the manner in which
performances were conducted, we select the " As You
Like It," of Sliakespeare, as beiug most familiar to the
general reader, and also j^eculiarly adapted to our pur-
pose. Orlando and Adam make their appearance,
and a siijnboard nailed to one of the side entrance
communicates the altogether unsuspected fact that we
are gazing upon an orchard. We see nothing which
in any way favors the agreeable illusion : there are
the rushes, the smoking fops, the balcony and a maze
of pine boards, but nothing that looks like trees.
Still, let not these things move you to that degree
of uncharitableness or presumption that you doubt
whether there be an orchard ; does not the infallible
board with its painted letters positively affirm, " This
be an orchard? " Other dramatis personoe soon enter,
and the hypothetical orchard becomes the scene of a
most animated and interesting colloquy — the assem-
bled company receiving no intimation that the fruit
trees are no more, until the curtain falls, or rather is
drawn, upon the first act.
When the woolen hangings are again separated, the
imagination is no longer painfully strained to support
the illusion of tlie apples, but the unerring board
directs the wandering eye to the vast forests of Ard en.
Here Jaques makes his sublime forest meditations in
an area of ten feet by twelve, enclosed in rough pine
boards ; his enthusiasm, considerably damped by the
34 A TllEATKE OF SHAKESPEARE's DAY.
provoking witticisms of critics and gallants, and his
utterances ciiokcd by the volunies of t()l)acco smoke
which roll in lazy, suffocating clouds toward the ceil-
ing from a score of pipes. The affectionate ditties of
Orlando are naih'd to visionary trees, and he makes
passionate love to the fair Rosalind amid fumes which
strangle tender phrases, and convert sighings into pul-
monary symptoms of a different character.
It should here be observed by way of explanation,
that Rosalind, when personated in Elizabeth's time,
was fair only by courtesy ; for female })arts were en-
acted during her reiijn, and indeed, during many sub-
sequent reigns, by boys or young men. There is an
anecdote related of Charles II., which is a matter of
history, and illustrates this point very well. It is
said that on one occasion, visiting the theatre at the
bringing out of a new play, l)y some great author,
he became impatient at the unusual delay in drawing
asunder the curtain. The royal wrath soon became
extreme, and it was essential to the prospects of the
*' management " that it should l)e appeased. Accord-
ingly, when the vials of iniperial indignation were
aljout to be emptied promiscuously upon the assembly,
when the storm was just about to burst, a messenger
from the green-room informed his majesty that the
fair heroine had not finished sliaving, — and the tem-
pest immediately subsid(Hl. At each successive act
new boards with fresh inscriptions inf(UMn us of the
situation of tlie performers. The saloons of tiie duke's
palace and the cottage of the peasant — scenes in
doors and scenes out o( doors — are precisely the
same, Avith the exception of the invariable and ever-
changing signboard.
coo
But there is one novelty, one new feature in the
representation as the i)lay progresses. It will be
A THEATRE OF SHAKESPEARE's DAY. 35
recollected that the balcony was mentioned as furnish-
ing a throne for princes, and a judgment-seat for dis-
pensers of justice. During the wrestling contest
between Charles and Orlando, this most serviceable
commodity comes into requisition. Here "sits the
" duke " as umpire of the combat and general of the
troops and retainers who stand on guard below. It
is quite refreshing to hear his stentorian voice issuing
from so unusual a quarter — it furnishes quite an
agreeable relief to the tedious monotony of insipid
dialoijue "•oino; on amons; the rushes below.
The play, however, proceeds rather sluggishly from
the utter mea<j:reness and insufficiency of the " scenery,
machinery and decorations," so indispensable to the
attractiveness of theatrical exhibitions. The trades-
men in the pit turn their backs to the stage and their
eyes to the skies, as they clasp affectionately the
almost exhausted flagon, and pour into their thirsty
throats the residue of half a dozen })ot;itions. The
crimpled dames in the boxes relax their majestic
stiff'ness, and relapse sonmolent into the arms of the
gouty old gentlemen, their husbands. The wits and
"clever" men upon the stage grow more boisterous
in their pleasantries, and fumigate more zealously as
they pelt the unfortunate actors with rushes, or trip
them as they " exeunt." To the vulgar crowd the
only attractions which the performance offers, are the
brilliant dresses of the actors and the vestige of a plot
which the personation enables them to glean. Asa
general thing, however, the stage now receives hardly
any attention. Pipes, tankards, and gossip are the
order of the day, and cverj'body is glad when Orlando
succeeds in obtaining his hereditary rights, wins the
hand of the beautiful Rosalind, is dismissed in happi-
36
A TIIEATRE Or SHAKESPEARE S DAT.
ness, and the woolen screen slips along its iron rod
for (he hist time.
Such was the style of dramatic exhibitions in the
Elizabethan era. The stage was totally devoid of all
scenic appendages calculated to produce the illusion
necessary to add interest and intelligence to the plot.
Rocks and trees, palaces and hamlets, places of fes-
tivity and scenes of shipwreck, all existed merely in
the. imagination, with neither properties nor scenery
to aid in the deception.
1NTE1;1< 'i; (..1 A MMi>hi;N tHKA riili.
CHAPTEK III.
THE AMERICAN THEATRE.
Goocl-natured, rosy-cheeked, cheerful little Davy
Garrick, as Dr. Johnson called the tragedian, was in
the zenith of his glory at the Drury Lane, London,
about the middle of the last century, and Goodman's
Fields, which had cradled the wonderful actor, was in
its decline. It declined so rapidly after Garrick
deserted it that its manasfer, Wm. Hallam, failed in
1750, and the theatre was closed. Hallam at once
turned his thouo:hts toward America as a tield in which
his fortune might be replenished, — English actors and
managers still look upon this country as an El
Dorado, — and so he consulted with his brother Lewis
Hallam, a comedian, and the two came to the conclu-
sion to organize a company and run the risk of being
scalped by what they considered the liberal but blood-
thirsty tomahawk-wielding citizens of the New World.
They got a company together, twenty-four stock plays,
many of them Shakespearian, were selected, Avith
eight farces and a single pantomime," The Harlequin
Collector, or The Miller Deceived." Wm. Hallam
and his brother were to share the profits of the ven-
tur<j, and the former was to remain at home while the
latter managed the company and threw in his services
as first low comedian, his wife and children also takino-
parts in the performances.
Under the direction of Levvis the company, with
(37)
38 THE AMERICAN THEATRE.
sonic scenery, costumes, ;uul all Uic usual stage acces-
sories, set sail on l)oard the Chariniiig Sally in 1752.
During the voyage when the weather permitted, the
company rehearsed their plaj's on the quarter-deck
of tlie vessel, having the crew and officers for their
audience, and receiving from them many manifesta-
tions of the dcli<2:lit which their histrionic efforts
brought to the Jack Tars' hearts. They landed at Wil-
liamsburg, then the capital of Virginia, and the mana-
ger after a diliixent search found a store-house on
the outskirts of the town, which he thouirht would
suit his pur[)ose. This he leased and metamorphosed
into a theatre with j^it, gallery, and boxes, and having
the establishment ready on September 5, 1752, on that
day the first performance ever given in America by
a regular company of comedians, was given to a pre-
sumal)1y large and delighted audience. As was the
custom in those days, the bill was a double one, con-
sistins: of "The Merchant of Venice" and the farce
♦' Lethe." The cast for '« The Merchant of Venice"
was as follows : Bassanio, Mr. Rigb}'- ; Antonio, Mr.
Clarkson ; Gndiano, Mr. Singleton ; Salanio and
Duke, !Mr. Herbert ; Salarino and Gohhs, ]\lr. "^^'ig-
nel ; Launoelot and Tubal, Mr. Ilullam ; S/ii/lock, ]\Ir.
Malone ; Servant to Portia, Master Lewis Hallam (be-
ing his first ajjpearance on any stage) ; A^ere.s.s'rt, Miss
Palmer; Jesica (her first ap[)earance on any stage).
Miss Ilallam ; Portia, ]\Irs. Ilallani. The cast for
"Lethe" was as follows (the Tailor ha\ing beei^cut
out, and the [)art of Lord CJialkstoii not having been
written into the fai'ce at thet-ini«' ihc Hallam company
left pjigland): Exop, Mi-. Clarkson; Old Man, Mr.
Malone ; Fine Gentleman, Mr. Singleton ; French-
man, Mr. Kigby ; Charon, Mr. Ilcrbort ; Mercury,
Mr. Adcock ; Drunken Man and Tattoo, Mr. Ilallam ;
THE AMERICAN THEATRE. 39
John, Mr. Wignel ; Mrs. Tattoo, Miss Palmer ; Fine
Lady, Mrs. Hnlhim.
The Williamsburg theatre was a very rude structure,
and so near the woods that the manager could, as he
often did, stand in the back door of the building; and
shoot pigeons for his dinner. Still the company re-
mained here for a long time and met with much sucess.
The house was finally destroyed by fire and the company
removed to Annapolis, where a substantial building
was converted to their use and where they remained
with fortune -favoring them until they got ready to go
to New York. This they did in 1753, opening a
theatre in the metropolis on September 17th, that on
Nassau Street, in a building afterwards occupied by
the old Dutch Church. The bill for the first nig-ht was
" The Conscious Lovers" and the ballad-farce " Damon
and Phillida. ' ' But three performances were given each
week — on Mondays, "Wednesdays, and Fridays — and
this continued to be the rule up to the beginning of
the present century. The price of admission was
eight shillings to the boxes, six shillings to the pit and
throe shillings to the gallery. This was on the first
night, but the second night the prices were lowered to
six shillings, five shillings, and three shillings for boxes,
pit, and gallery respectively, and by the middle of Octo-
ber a fourth reduction was made, so that admission to
the pit could be had for four shillings and to the gallery
fortwo shillings. The performance began atsix o'clock,
and on the bill for the opening night appears
a request that ladies and gentlemen will come
to the theatre in time, and a statement that nothing
under the full price will be taken during the en-
tire performance. This seems to be a departure from
the custom of the mother country, where half price
was received for admission after the third act. The
Nassau Street theatre was closed on the evening; of
40 THE AMEKICAJf THEATRE.
March 18, 1754, with " The Beggars' Opera" and
"The Devil to Pay.'"
While the company was still in New York, ]\Ianager
Hallani was endeavoring to come to terms with the
Quakers of Philadelphia, who strenuously objected to
having })layers in their midst, or to allowing stage repre-
sentations in their city. Mr. Malone, a meml)er of the
company, was at length sent on to the Quaker City, as
Hallam's ambassador, and after considerable trouble
succeeded in obtaining Gov. Hamilton's permission to
present twenty-four plays and their attendant farces
provided there was nothing indecent or innnoral in
them. In April, 1754 the company gave its first per-
formance in Philadelphia, playing the tragedy of " The
Fair Penitent, " and the farce, " Miss in Iler Teens."
The building occupied by the actors is designated by
William Dunlap, the historian of the early American
theatre, as " the store-house of a Mr. Plumstead, " and
was situated " on the corner of the first alley above Pine
Street." After the twenty-four performances had
been given by *' authority of his excellency," Gov.
Hamilton, the players were allowed to add six more
nights, after which they returned to New York. Here
they erected a theatre on Crugcr's wharf, between
Old Slip and ColTee House Slip, and prospered.
Boston did not have a theatre until 171)2, and then
got its first place of amusement only because Wignell
and three other members of Hallam's company, for
some reason or other, seceded from it. The secoders
brought to their standard some money men of the Hub,
aljuilding was erected, and on August 10, 1792, the
first show was given ; feats on the tight rope and acro-
batic and other artists contributing to Ihe entcrtainmont.
Five years later New York had two theatres, one on
the Johns, and the other on Greenwich Street, and when
the nineteenth century l)eg;ni, amusements were in a
THE AMERICAN THEATRE. 41
flourishing condition in all the large cities of the coun-
try, and the theatre had taken firm root and gave full
promise of its present jDrosperity in the New World.
They were a queer band, these early strollers on
American soil. It reads like a romance to follow them
through the history of their early struggles, and to
scrutinize the personal peculiarties of the individuals
who composed the company. One of them — I forget
which at the present moment — was an imaginative
fellow given up to all sorts of schemes and inventions,
and published far and wide the announcement that he
had discovered a process of manufacturing salt from
sea water. A member of one of the earliest orches-
tras — a short time after Hallam had ceased furnishing
music to his audience with ** one Mr. Pelham and his
harpischord " or the single fiddle of a Mr. Hewlett —
had been a Catholic priest in Switzerland, and had
suffered the tortures of the Inquisition. He told his
story to his manager one day and it was really touch-
ins:. His mother, he said, had dedicated him in his
infancy to the priesthood. When he became old
enough he was placed in a theological seminary,
instructed and duly ordained. He was a priest when
Spain went to war against France. His canton raised
a regiment, and the priest being made its chaplain ac-
companied it to Madrid. In Madrid he for the first
time learned to love. He met in the street a hand-
some Spanish lady who won his heart and lit the fire
of passion in his frame. He became acquainted with
her, and ascertained that the lady reciprocated his af-
fection. There were many moments of stolen pleasure,
nuiny sighs and vows, until they finally agreed to flee
together to America. The day and hour were
agreed upon, and the lovers were in readiness, when a
strong hand was laid upon the recreant priest's shoulder
and he was thrown into prison. He realized his awful
42 THE AMERICAN THEATRE.
position at once, knowing that lie was in the power of
that monster, the Inquisition. For weeks he remained
chained to the floor of his cell. Once he was led out to
execution, but by some miracle or accident, was saved.
At last, having suft'ered severely, he was put to the tor-
ture, and weak, dying, and distracted was led to the
gate of his prison, thrust out into the street, and
warned as he valued his life to leave Madrid within ten
days. It is needless to say he did so, and never learned
or saw anything more of his Spanish sweetheart.
From the rude and uncomfortal)le theatre of a century
affo, with dressing-rooms under the stage, and but a
single fiddle or harpsichord player for the orchestra,
with poorly lighted and illy ventilated auditoriums,
with measfre scenery and rairii:ed wardrobes — from the
primitive theatre of the New World has grown the mag-
nificent, symmetrical, and elegantly ai)pointed houses
of amusement of the present day — structures beaut i-
fullv and chastely ornamented in their exteriors, while
their interiors have received the most delicate touches
of the artist's brush and the most careful attention
from the upholsterer — beautiful in color and drapery,
rich in furniture, and the very perfection of architec-
tural desiirn. Our sta<;es are revelations of dramatic
completeness, sometimes presenting scenic pictures
that challenjre nature itself in their attractiveness, and
at all times surrounding the actors of a ])lay with ac-
cessories gorgeous and extensive enough to mystify as
well as delight nine out of every ten patrons of the
theatre. The manner in wiiich these extraordinary
and pleasing illusions are produced is one of the great
secrets of the stage, and when the me(.-hanisni cm-
ployed is exi)lained tiie reader will be surprised to learn
how simple and almost midisguised are the methods
whereby the people behind the scenes work and multi-
ply wonders.
CHAPTER IV.
AT THE STAGE-DOOR.
The patrons of the theatre must all find their way
into the house through the front doors ; only the priv-
ileged few are allowed access to the mysteries and
wonders of the stas^e throuo;li the back door. Here
stands a gentleman, generally of repulsive mien and
unattractive manners, whose special business it is to
see that nobody, not entitled to do so, penetrates the
sacred ijrecincts, and who learns at once to distinguish
between the people who come prj'ing around his baili-
wick merely for curiosity, and those who are there to
"mash " a susceptible ballet girl or perhaps an indiscreet
member of the company. Those who are led to the
stage-door by curiosity are numerous and they are all
promptly repulsed ; and the " mashers " who stand at
the stage-door after the performance is over, must get
into the good graces of the door-keeper, and retain his
friendship if they desire the course of true love to run
smoother than the old adage says it runs.
In the large theatres of Eastern cities the cerberus
who guards the stage entrance generally has a little
sentry box just inside the door, with a window cut in
it, a stove placed inside in cold weather, a numl)er of
pigeon-holes for letters, and indeed all modern con-
veniences, as the saying goes. Here he sits and
smokes, hailing everybody who passes in and saying a
kind or snarling word to all who pass out. If the mail
(43)
44 AT THE STAGE-DOOK.
has brought a letter for any member of the company,
or a " masher " has sent one of the gh'ls a dainty lit-
tle note expressive of the sentiment that is swelling in
his twenty-six-inch bosom, the cerberus will have it,
and will hand it out to the person for whom it is
intended with an appropriate and not always compli-
mentary remark about it. Sometimes this guardian
of the theatric arcana will take advantage of his posi-
tion to tyrranizc over the ballet girls and other sul)or-
diiiates of a company, and will rule in his autocratic
way to his owu pecuniary and other profit. In the
East he is made a kind of time-keeiDcr, notes when
the performers appear for duty and when they are
absent, besides otherwise making himself serviceal)le
to the management and careful of the interests of his
house.
A story is told about one of them — I think his
name was Bulkhead — who was employed at a theatre
where the ballet was large, and the girls paid very
liberal tribute to him. They gave him silk handker-
chiefs of the prettiest and most expensive kind to wipe
his fantastic mug on ; they paid for innumerable hot
drinks with which ho rounded out the waist of his
pantaloons ; they dropped cigars into his always out-
stretched paw, :ind otherwise drained their own
resources to make Mr, Bulkhead as happy and coni-
fortal)le as possil)lc. He, at first, took whatever was
oflfered, but soon grew bold, and demanded fifty cents
each of their little five dollars a week, every salary
day. The girls made up their minds not to accede to
this demand, which they deemed unjust and exorbitant ;
they not only positively refused to give Bulkhead any
money, but would give him nothing else, not even a
two-cent cigar. As a result, al)out one-half of the girls
forfeited a portion of their salaries next pay-day. This
AT THE STAGE-DOOR. 45
aroused nil the fury there was in the entire ballet, and
when they found out, too, that Bulkhead had driven
away their male admirers they were as wild as so many
hyenas. It did not take 'long for them to hit upon a
means of wreaking vengeance upon the heartless and
unscrupulous door-keeper. They clubbed together
what change they had and got Bulkhead boiling
drunk ; by the time the show was over on that (to him)
memorable night he did not know which way to look for
Sunday. After the final curtain had fallen and the
lights were dimmed. Bulkhead sat at the door on his stool
swaying like an unsteady church-steeple and snoring
like an engine when its boiler is nearly empty. The
girls 2)icked him up and carried him into a remote
corner of the stage, Avhere they piled a lot of old
scenery around him after tying his hands and feet
securely. Then they got red and blue fire ready, al-
most under his cherry red and panting nose ; one of
the girls took her position at the thunder drum ; an-
other had hold of the rain wheel ; another was at the
wind machine ; a fourth got a big brass horn out of the
music room and a fifth ffot the bass drum : the remain-
der stood ready to lend assistance with their hands and
throats. At a given signal the thunder rolled louldly,
the wind whistled vigorusly, the rain came down in tor-
rents, the brass horn moaned piteously, the bass drum
was ])eaten unmercifully, and pans of burning blue
and red fire were poked through crevices in the piled-
up machinery right under the drunken door-keeper's
nostrils, while all the girls shouted at the tops of their,
voices and clapped as enthusiastically as if they were
applauding a favorite. Bulkhead after opening his eyes
and having his ears assailed by the din, shouted wildly
for assistance and mercy and all kinds of things ; but
he got neither assistance nor mercy. The racket con-
— Seep. 18.
46 AT THE STAGK-DOOR.
tiiiued for nearly ten niinutcs when quiet and darkness
were restored, and the girls quietly stole away leaving
Bulkhead alone in his agony under the pile of scenery,
where he was found by the stage carpenter next morn-
ing, a first-class, doul)le-l)arrelled case of jim-jams. Ho
is now ill ail insane asylum, and employs most of his
time telling peo[)lc that notwithstanding all Bob Inger-
soU's buncombe and blarney there must be a hereafter,
for he has himself been throui^h the sunstroke sec-
tion of it.
The ballet girls of another theatre played an equally
effective and amusing trick npon an obnoxious scene
painter. The artist had been in the habit of ])ainting
2)osts, doorsteps, etc., in the neighborhood of the
stage-door in colors that were not readily perceptible,
and when the young ladies' "mashes" came around
after the performance to wait lor them to dress, they
innocently sat down u[)on or Icaiicil against the fresh
paint and ruined their clothes. Tiie scene painter and
his friend were always in the neiirlil)orhood to raise a
laugh when the disaster w^as made known, and the re-
sult was that the gay young men would come
near the stage-door no more, and that the sweetly
susceptible creature known as the ballet girl was
obliged to go home alone, sup[)erless. Well, one day
the girls found the artist asleep against his paint-table
with a half emi)ticd [)itcher of beer by his side. This
was their o[)portunity. One of the girls who was of a
decorative Oscar-Wilde-like turn of iniiid irot a small
brush while another held the colors, and in ten minutes
they had that man's face painted so th:it he would pass
for a whole stock of scenery ; the tattooed Greek was
a mere five-cent chronio alongside of him, and a Sioux
Indi.'iii with forty pounds of wni-p.iint on would Ite a
ten-cent side-show beside a twelve-monster-shows-in-
AT THE STAGE-DOOR.
47
one-iincler-a-single-canvas exhibition. In this ehiborate
but imdecorative condition the scene painter wandered
off to a neio-hborino^ saloon, the Avonder and merriment
of all who saw him. He did not understand the cause
DECORATING A SCENE I'AINTER.
of the general stare and unusual laugh at him, until a
too sensitive friend took him to a mirror and showed
him his frescoed feature?. Profanity and gnashing of
48 AT THE STAGE-DOOR.
teeth followed, and the artist was prevented from going
back to the theatre to murder ten or twelve people
only by a thoughtful policeman who picked him up as
he flew out through the door of the saloon, and carried
him oil' to the calaboose. He was sorry when he got
sol)er, and from that day to this has not attempted to
i^aint the coat-tails of the ballet girls' lovers.
A great many of these lovers, as they are designated,
are bold and heartless wretches, who have in some
way or other obtained an introduction to or scraped
acquaintance with the sometimes fair young creatures
who till in tlie crevices and chinks of a play, or air
their limbs in the labyrinths of a march, or shake them
in some strange and fascinating dance. They look upon
the ballet giil, whether she be a dancer or merely be-
low the line of utility, as legitimate prey, and without
the slightest scruple will waylay or spread a net to
catch her in some quiet but successful manner. They
forget that many girls enter the theatre with the in-
tention of making honorable and honest livinijs : that
they prize their virtue as highly as the most respected
young lady who moves in the topmost circles of the
best society, and that the theatrical profession is only
misrepresented by the men and women who give
themselves up to debauchery, and allow their passions
to run riot to such an extent that they win notoriety
of the most unsavory and unenvial)le kind. It is only
because the stage is besieged by so many scoundrels
and villains who have either bought or begged the
privileges of the l)ack door that the profession is dan-
gerous to young and innocent girlhood. The stage
itself is pure, and could be kept so, if these hangers-on
were only done away with and the j^outhful student
and aspirant for histrionic honors were allowed to pur-
sue her vocation unassailed by the handsome tempters
who })egin by flattery and after an usually easy con-
AT THE STAGE-DOOR. 49
quest, end the dream of love by rudely casting the
fallen s:h*l aside to make room for another victim.
Stand here in the shadow awhile. The performance
is at an end, and the gentlemen who haunt the stage-
door are beginning to assemble. There are probably
a half dozen of them. They stand around sucking the
heads of their canes and anxiously awaiting the ap-
pearance of their inamoratas. A burlesque company
has the theatre this week, and there are probably
eighteen or twenty handsome young ladies in the com-
bination. Nearly every one of them is a " masher,'*
and can be depended upon to hit the centre of a weak
male heart, with an arrow from her beaming eye, at
one hundred yards. Some of them have received
tender notes from the front of the house during the
night, making appointments for a private supper at one
of the free and easy restaurants ; others have met
their gentlemen friends before and can depend upon
them to wait at the stage-door every night. Those
who send the notes during the performance are of what
is classed as the ultra-cheeky kind. A man of this
class will do anything to make the acquaintance of a
ballet or chorus girl. I knew one, one night, to push
a dozen different notes under the door of Eme Eous-
seau's dressing-room, which opened into the parquette,
and he would not desist until Samuel Colville, the
manager, caused him to be dragged out of the theatre
and given over to the police. Another gentleman of
the same proclivities having failed to gain Alice Oates's
attention when she was in Chicago, followed her to St.
Louis, Cincinnati, and Louisville, and still being una-
ble to effect a proper " mash," endeavored to intro-
duce himself successfully and gain her favor forever bv
making her a present of a pair of fast horses. Alice
4
50 AT THE STAGK-DOOR.
very sensibly refused to accept the gift, and told the
fond and foolish young man to go home to his mother.
Many cases of this kind might be cited to show how
easily the women who enter the profession, partly for
the purpose of prostituting their art, find easy conquest
among the hair-brained fellows who arc oidy too will-
ing to be captives and rarely tr}^ to break the fetters
of roses with which they find themselves ])Ound. But
keep here in the shadow a while and watch the manoeu-
vres of the "mashers." The stage-door opens and
out comes a very modest little girl. She does not be-
long to the combination playing at the house this week,
but is a member of the regular ballet of the theatre, —
one of the few poor creatures mIio arc obliged to
sret into ridiculous costumes of enormous dresses or
unpadded tights, to increase the throng of court-ladies,
the number of pages, or add to the proi)ortions of a
crowd. She doegnot dress any better than a girl who
finds employment in a factory. She is young, however,
and stage-struck. She has gone into the profession,
braving all its danjjers and with a linn resolution to iro
unscathed through it, carrvinir with her a sincere love
for art and a l)urning desire to attain eminence.
But alas ! she has little talent, and absolutely no jrc-
nius. This can be seen and Mpjireciated already,
although she has not had two lines to speak since enter-
ing tlie theatre. She has been in tlie employ of the
house only since the beginning of the season. The
" mashers " ])art to make room for her as with eyes
cast down she trips along tlie street. Some of them
say smart and pretty things, and some have the im-
pudence to raise tiicir hats and 1)1(1 her good-t'vening.
She pays no attention to tiiem, however, and it is
probably fortunate that the tall muscular gentleman in
work-day clothes who- has had a pass to tiic gallery or
AT THE STAGE-DOOR. 51
may not have been in the theatre at all, and who is
waiting a block below to escort her home, does not
know the petty insults that are put upon her or the
snares that beset her path. Every night the big burly
fellow waits for the modest little ballet girl to see her-
home in safety. The girl does not tell them at home
to what dangers she is exposed, and they never learn
until sometime the fall comes, when a troupe of negro
minstrels or a large comic opera chorus invade the
house and lay siege to the hearts of all the females
they find behind the scenes.
Here come two lauo-hing blondes through the stage
door. The light falling upon their faces shows that
although they try to appear light and cheery, there is
weariness in their limbs and perhaps distress in their
hearts. They select their male friends at once ; in-
deed, the latter have been waiting for the gay bur-
lesquers.
" Charley dear, I didn't see you in front to-night,"
says one.
"Neither did I," says the other ; " but George was
there. I could tell him by his red eyes and cherry
nose."
"Yes," responds Charley, "there was too much
champagne in that last bottle, and I didn't care about
iretting out of bed until half an hour ao-o."
'•'You had considerable of the juicy nnder your
vest, last night," the first girl remarks ; and then there
is a laugh, and Charley says he feels in a good humor
for tackling more wine at that particular moment, and
the quartette move off to a hack-stand, jump into an
open carriage and with lots of laughter the party are
driven away to some suburban garden wdth wine-room
attachment, or to some urban restaurant where wine
may flow as freely as morality may fade away with the
52 AT THE STAGE-DOOR.
speeding hours, and the pleasure may hist just as
long as the restauranteur thinks he is being well paid
for the privileges of his establishment.
Another girl conies through the stage-door. She is
probably twenty-four years of age, is tall, handsome,
and most attractive in her manners. There is the
least suspicion of the matron in her appearance, that
dignity of carriage that characterizes women after
marriage being clearly defined in her motions. She
knows somebody has been waiting for her, — a young
fellow as tall, handsome, and attractive as herself. He
sees her at once as she comes out, and goes to meet
her. Her footsteps are bent in his direction also. As
they come together she lays her hand upon his ex-
tended arm, anil says ; —
" No, Fred, I cannot go to-night. Sister is sick at
the hotel, and the baby has no one to take care of her.
I must go home to my child."
*' Pshaw !" says Fred, ".I had everything arranged
for an elegant drive and a rattling supper."
" I'm so sorry, Fred ;" the woman pleads, " but I
can't nio to-niiiht. You Avill have to excuse me this
once. You know it was daylight when we parted this
morning."
" I know," her friend insisted ; " but what's the use
in worrying about the baby. She's propably asleep
now and won't need your care. Come, go along."
*' No, I cannot. I will not to-night." But Fred
continues to plead, asking the pleasure of her i)resencc
at a supper, just for a half hour and no more. Un-
able to resist the warmth of his appeals, she at last
consents, and it is safe to say, that once the evening's
entertaimnent begins, morning breaks upon the sleepy
babe and sick sister at the hotel before Fred and his
companion are ready to part.
AT THE STAGE-DOOR. 53
I knew a friend — a dramatic writer — vvlio stood at
the back door one night and waited for a pair of pretty
chorus singers. My friend had another friend with
him — a prominent merchant. The two gay and giddy
young girls, who were only foolish flirts, did not kuow
that the gentlemen who had invited them to a midnight
ride and a late supper were married. Indeed, they
may not have cared. So when the opera of " Oli-
vette " was over and the pair of chorus singers
emero;ed at the back door of the stao;e and found the
two gentlemen waiting patiently for them, the girls
each gave over a bundle to her particular friend to
have him carry in his pocket until such time as the
quartette got ready to separate. The bundles each
contained a pair of pink " svmmetricals " — ■ padded
tights. The young ladies informed their friends of
this fact, and cautioned them to be sure to return the
bundles before leaving. Well, the night wore on joy-
ously with wine and singing and the usual pleasures of
a late drive. At last, at 3 a. m., the girls got ready
to return to their hotel. They were driven thither,
and the entire party having imbibed more wine than
was necessary, soft and sweet adieus were so tenderly
spoken that nobody thought about the two pairs of
pink svmmetricals. The gentlemen ordered the car-
riage driver to speed homeward with them, and he did
so. First the dramatic writer disembarked at the door
of his residence, ran up stairs, pulled off" his clothes,
and was soon sound asleep. The merchant was soon
at his own door, had settled with the driver and the car-
riage had just rolled away when, as he was fumbling
at the latch-key he thought of the pair of tights.
With one bound he cleared the steps, and running
into the street, shouted after the carriage. The driver
heard him, stopped, and was given the pair of tights to
take around to the chorus girl's hotel that day and a $5
54 AT THE STAGE-DOOR.
bill to pocket for the services. It was a narrow escape
for the merchant. For the dramatic writer it was no
escape at all. He was rudely awakened at ten o'clock
in the morning, and the first sight that met his eves
was his infuriated wife holding the pair of pink tights
by the toes and stretching them out so that the sin of
the husband stood revealed to him in all its fulness.
" Where did these come from?" the exasperated
wife shrieked, flaunting them before the husband's
eyes.
" Where did you get them?" He asked, trembling,
and unable to think of any good excuse to make.
"I got them in your coat pocket," his spouse
shouted, piling up the evidence and agony in a way
that was excruciating.
*' By jingo ! is that so?" exclaimed the husl)and,
coming suddenly to a sitting posture in bed, and bring-
ing his hands together vehemently. " Now, I'll bet
$4 Charley ," giving the name of his merchant
friend, put them there. He told me he had a pair that
he was going to make a present of to one of the " Oli-
vette" girls at the "
Brilliant as this thought was, it did not satisfy the
little lady. She kept uj) the argument all day, and
that night paid a \ isit to the merchant's wile, where
the affair got into such a tangle that the two husbands
brought in a bachelor friend to shoulder the bhinie,
and who made the excuse that the whole thing was a
trick pnt up by a few gentlemen (among them the
bachelor was not) on the dramatic man and merchant
to get them into domestic trouble, as they had suc-
ceeded in doing, beyond their most sanguine desires.
And now that we have been long enough at the back
door of the theatre, let us go home and come ai'ound
to-morrow night to have a view of the plagues and au-
noyances to be found before the foot-lights.
CHAPTER V.
BEFORE THE FOOT-LIGHTS.
There are people who patronize the theatre who do
not go there simply to see the play or to be pleased by
the players, and whose interest in the stage is more
than double discounted by the interest they manifest in
and towards the audience. The "masher" makes it
a market in wdiich to display his fascinations and call
upon the susceptible fraction of femininity to inspect
and avail themselves of his heart-breaking and soul-
wasting wares. Whether he modestly takes his stand
in the rear of the auditorium, overcoat on arm and
stovepipe hat gracefully poised upon the thumb of his
left hand, while, with polished opera-glass, he sweeps
the sea of variegated millinery and obtrusive-hued cos-
metics, or bravely hangs up his charms to view on the
front row of the dress circle, or prominently displays
them in a proscenium box, he is ever the same offen-
sive and shameless barber-and-tailor-shop decoration,
moved by a wild ambition to attract and hold feminine
attention, and always attaining to a degree of notoriety
among the masculiue theatre-goers that keeps him
overwhelmed with contempt, and causes him to be as
readily recognized as if he had a tag tied to his back or
spread across his vest front, declaring him to be a
fisher after femininity. When the "masher" takes
the shape of the young blood, whose short and tightly-
fighting coat is matched by the shallowness of the
(55)
56
BEFORE TIIF FOOT-LIGHTS.
crown of his stniight-brimmcd hat, and whoso eye-
glasses straddle his nose as gracefully as his twcnty-
iive-cent cane is carried
in his hand, and this ir-
resistible combination of
attractions is thrust n[)on
the audience from a box
opening, the acme of the
nSv ladv-killingart is reached
and if all the world does
not admire the effective
tableau it must be l^e-
cause all the world is
unappreciative and the
" masher" stands on an
THE " MASHER." jesthctic plane to which
the rest of mankind cannot hope to aspire.
But the " masher " is only a fraction of the class of
amusement patrons to which attention has been called
in the opening sentence of this chapter. Apart from
the people who deem it their duty to come tramping
into the theatre while the performance is going on,
and whose coming is followed by a triumphal flourish
of banging seats, and the lieaving footbeats of hurry-
ing ushers, to the intense disgust of all who care to
hear the first act of the play, there are others who
have a hundred wa^'s of annoying an audience, and
who make a very efleclual use of their gifts in this
direction. Tiiere is the member of the " i)rofesh," —
the gaseous advance agent, or the bloviate business
manager, the actor " up a stump," or the "super"
who has ])]aycd the part of a silent but spectacular
Victor with John MeCiilIongh or Tom Keenc, and who
sits in the rear of the house, but sufKcienlly for-
ward to be distinctly heard by people in the dress
BEFORE THE FOOT-LIGHTS. 57
circle, criticising the mannerisms of the ladies or
gentlemen on the stage and "guying" everybody
in the cast from the star down to the frightened and
stiff-kneed little ballet girl whom an inscrutable Provi-
dence has allowed to wander in upon the scene occa-
Bionally, to say, " Yes, mum, "or " No, mum." The
leisurely but loud professional who thus disports him-
self must necessarily enjoy a large share of the
audience's attention, and the more of this he attracts
the more he is encouraged to be extravajjant in his
criticisms and unreserved in his elocution. He some-
times must dispute the title to obstreperous obtrusive-
ness with some liquor-laden auditor who has succeeded
in passing the door-keeper only to find that the heat
of the house has accelerated his inebriation and sfiven
freedom and license to his tongue until the " bouncer "
lifts him out of his seat by the collar and deposits him in
a reflective and emetic mood on the curbstone in front
of the theatre. Then, too, a crowd of friends sometimes
get together in the parquette, who begin a conversation
before the first curtain rises and keep it going on in
careless and annoying tones until the final flourish of
the orchestra arrives with the dimmino; of the liahts
as the audience files out. But if the loud members of
the " profesh," the interjective inebriate, and the crowd
of communicative friends are not on hand to furnish di-
version for the folks who are trying to follow what is
going forward on the stage, there is one other never-
failing source of distraction and annoyance — the giddy
and gushing usher. It is safe to bet that just when the
most pathetic passage of a play is reached, or the
tragedian is singing smallest, a few ushers will throw
themselves hastily together in the lobby and hold a
mass meeting long and loud enough to be taken for a
November night political meeting, if there were only
58 BEFORE THE FOOT-LIGIITS.
a sttikc "vvairon and a few Chinese lanterns strewn
around. Indeed, the usher seems to assume that he
is a sort of safety-valve through which a disturbance
must break out now and then to offset the quiet of the
audience. If the usher isn't plying his fiendish pro-
clivity, some bald-headed man in the parqucttc is sure
to throw his skating rink over the back of the scat, and,
with shinning brow turned uj) towards the suh-burnerin
the dome, mouth rounded out like the base of a cupola
and uostrils working like a suction pump, his beauti-
ful snore will rise above the wildest roar of the orches-
tra and drown the mellifluous racket of the big bass
drum, until some friendly hand disturbs the dreamer,
and the " ov-<x-s-2:-s:-<x-iX-i^ ! " that rushes up his nos-
trils, down his throat and out through his ears, is thus
gently and perhaps only temporarily interrupted. The
enthusiast — the man who is carried away by the spirit
of the scene — is also a source of annoyance, and
when he signifies from the balcony his willingness to
take a hand in what is being enacted on the stage,
damning the villian heartily, and, like the sailor of
old, openly sympathizing with femininity in distress,
he first becomes a target for the gallery boys' gutter-
wit and finally a i)rey to the inexorable " bouncer,"
who roams around the upper tiers of every theatre and
unceremoniously dumps disturbers down stairs. Last,
but by no means least, in the distracting and disturb-
ing features at theatrical performances is the pea-
nut cruncher. He is the most cold-blooded and least
excusable of all the annoyances with which amusement
patrons are aftlicted. He wraps his teeth around the
roasted goober, utterly reckless of the distress he is
stirring up in the bosoms of those around him, and he
grinds and smacks and continues to crunch, stopping
occasionally to charge his dental quartz-crusher anew,
BEFORE THE FOOT-LIGHTS. 59
and always beginning on the latest goober with the
greatest ferocity, while he seems to make it go ten
times further, as far as time and agony are concerned,
than any of its predecessors. All the other disturb-
ance consequent npon attending a play are petty,
compared with peanut-crunching, and it is the opinion
of the writer that a law should be passed at once,
making it a felony for any banana-stand or hand-cart
man to sell peanuts to citizens who are on their way
to the theatre. If such a law were passed, and if it
were not a dead letter, the people whose backbones
feel as if they were being fondled by a circular saw
every time they hear the rustling of a goober-shell,
would flop right down an their knees and renew their
confidence in the wisdom of Providence.
The young men and the old men, too, who go out
" between acts " to hold spirit seances with neighbor-
ing bar-keepers, while the orchestra is playing a Strauss
waltz or a medley of comic opera numbers for the
solace of the lovely ladies they have left behind them,
are a greater nuisance to the audience of a first-class
theatre than one would iraaijine. In nine cases out of
ten, the man who goes out to see another man, as the
saying is, has his seat in the middle of a row, so that it
is necessary for him to make trouble for ten or a
dozen persons before he can reach the aisle. He
tramples on ladies' dresses, comes into collision with
their knees, and sends a thrill of pain to the utmost
ends of the roots of every man's corn he treads on.
The same thing is repeated on the way back to his seat,
and there are bitter mutterin2:s, a great deal of sub-
dued or smothered profanity, and fierce, rebuking looks
flash from beneath the beautiful bonnets of the females.
It doesn't seem to aflect the nuisance any, however, for
he does the same thing over every act, and at each rep-
60 BEFORE THE FOOT-LICIITS.
etltion increases to the dumaijc he does and the com-
motion he creates. Tiien, to make bad Avorso, he
manages to surround himself with a distillery odor that
assails feminine nostrils in a most offensive manner, and
that will not suffer itself to 1)0 concealed or temi)ered
hvthe chewing of coffee-ground.s, cloves, or oranj^e-Deel.
I "witnessed the discomfiture of a young man of this
kind, one night, and the scene was a very funny one.
lie occupied a seat in the orchestra, in the centre of a
row of seats princi[)ally filled with ladies. As the cur-
tain went down the young man determined to go over
and have a look through the saloon opposite. Unwill-
ing to incommode the ladies ia the least, the young
man, with Chesterficldian grace, elevated a pedal ex-
tremity over the back of his chair, with the intention
of going out through the aisle l)ehind. Unfortunately
he stepped between the seat and the back, the in()val)le
seat flew up, and the thirsty young man was left as-
tride of the chair in a decidedly uncomfortable posi-
tion. By this time the gallery gods had marked him
for their victim. They hooted, whistled, cat-called,
and made slaniz; remarks about straddlinof the " rajjiifed
edjje," to his evident discomfiture. In vain he at-
tem))ted to diseniraire his No. lO's. The rest of the
audience became interested, and opera-glasses were
directed toward the blushing young man. The
feminine jriirirlcs in his neiijhhorhood rendered him
frantic ; laughter and uproar wcic I)ec()ming general,
when a good-natured individual kindly assi.sted him to
escape from his awkward i)o.sition. Amid " thunders
of applause" ho disapi)ear(!d.
The ladies, too, sometimes contribute largely to the
annoyance of an audience. They are, as everybody
knows, inveterate talkers, and insist on saying almost
as nmch during a i)eifbrmancc as the })laycrs say.
BEFORE THE FOOT-LIGHTS.
61
Their criticism of the toilets of friends and of strans:-
ers also, is loud-sweeping and usually denunciatory,
and they have a style of pillorying their victims in
speech that is decidedly heartless, yet refreshing. But
all the faults of loud and untamed talk micfht have
been forgiven had thej not introduced the tremendous
big hats which
rise high above
their heads and
stick far out
from their ears
c o m p 1 c t c 1 3^^
shutting off a
view of the
stage from the
persons imme-
diately in the
rear. Strong
men have shed
tears to find themselves conquered by these big hats ;
they have tried to peep around them, and have stood
tip-toed on their chairs to have a glance over the tops
of the millinery structures, but in vain. The hats
were too much for them. In a mild, cesthetic way the
ladies' big hats rank among the greatest plagues that
have ever visited the modern })lay-house.
I was in the Grand Opera House at St. Louis, one
evening, sitting in seat No. 3, row B, centre section,
parquette circle. Before the play began two ladies,
one dressed in black silk Avith a white satin jacket and
black beaver hat, with long sweeping feather, and the
other i)lainly dressed in black cashmere, with a " Sen-
sation " hat and tassel on, came in and took scats 1
and 2 in row A, same section. Prior to settling ^own
in their places, they looked inquiringly around the rear
THE BIG HAT.
62 BEFORE THE FOOT-LIGHTS.
of the theatre, one remarking to the other as they
plumped down in the chairs, " I suppose they haven't
got here yet." Seats three and four adjoining them
were vacant. The hidies had come unattended.
After they liad arranged themselves the lady with the
beaver hat drew out a letter and held it ui) to the liirht
so that the reporter could read it. It had a cut of one
of the principal hotels at the top and was note-pajier
from that establishment. It said : —
To Mamie and Sadie : Your note of to-day re-
ceived. AVe like your style and enclose two seats for
Grand Opera House to-night, where we hope to meet
you both and make your acquaintance.
Yours sincerely, George and Harry.
Just as the orchestra bes^an t^io overture in walked
two gentlemen whom the usher showed to the vacant
seats in row A. One of the men was tall, bald, portly
and rather good-looking and Avell dressed ; he had a
sandy mustache, and what hair was left on his head
was reddish, crisp, and curly. He was probably forty-
five years old. His companion was probably not more
than twenty-one, tall, thin, dark-complexioned, with
but a semblance of a mustache. The ladies smiled as
the gentlemen took their i:)laces. The men looked at
each other, winked, and laughed. When the two were
seated, the bald-headed man made a close and evi-
dently satisfactory scrutiny of the ladies, and catching
the eye of the one in the beaver hat, the two exchanged
smiles — not broad, committal grins, l)ut soft sjniles
of mutual recognition. The second lady only dared
to look sideways now and then. The second gentle-
man, who sat next to the ladies, was rather shy and
kept his hand up to his face from beginning to end of
the play. It was evident this was the first time the
BEFORE THE FOOT-LIGHTS.
63
quartette had met, and it was evident also that they had
made up their minds to act with all due decorum while
in the theatre. Smiles were now and then exchanged,
but no words were spoken. Once one of the ladies
sent her programme to the bald man, who had none.
During the third act of the play the baldhead began
writing short notes which the lady in the beaver
hat answered affirmatively with a nod of her head.
When the show was over the two ladies went
around one street, the two men around an-
other, and they met in the middle of the block
opposite the theatre. There was a brief conver-
sation in which a great deal of tittering was heard, and
then the quart- •
ette proceeded
to a quiet res-
taurant of the
most question-
able reputation
and took one
of the private
supper-rooms,
which are at
the disposal of
people whose
visit to the es-
tablishment is
not by any
means for the
sole purpose of
drinkino; a n d
eating, but has
a broad and very unmistakable suggestion of immor-
ality in it.
The key to the whole affair can be found in the fol-
GEORGE AND HARRY.
64
BEFORE THE FOOT-LIGHTS.
T.OlISi: >I()NTA(JrE.
lowing advertisoniciit, ])iil)Ii>Ii('il in tlio GIohc-Democrat of
tlio proccfliiiir Sim<l;i\ : —
BEFORE THE FOOT-LIGHTS.
65
Personal. — Two gentlemen of middle age and
means desire to become acquainted with two vivacious,
fun-loving young ladies who like to go to the theatre.
Address George and Harry, this office.
MAUD BRANSCOMB.
George and Harry had received an answer to this
advertisement from "Mamie and Sadie," and, just to
Ineet and become acquainted with them, had purchased
the four seats in row A, centre section. Grand Opera
CG BICFOKE THK FOOT-LICIITS.
House, making the tlieatrc their phicc of assignation.
" Mamie and Sadie " were ])y no means the innocent
and unsopliisticated creatures they seemed to be.
One of them was the wife of a travelling man Avho was
necessarily away from home ten months in a year ; the
other was nymph dn pave — a street-walker — who
scoured the i)rincipal tiioroughfares at night for vic-
tims to carry to her " furnished room," and who had
been educated up to the "personal" racket by the
lonely and wayward young wife of the commercial
drummer.
So much for the noisy, otherwise obtrusive phases
of the subject. The ladies who go to the theatre to
display themselves, to flash their jewels and flaunt
their silks and laces in the faces of the community,
have become so accustomed to the scneral run of
theatrical attractions that they are really no longer
spectators, and may be justly classed among the dis-
tractins: agencies in the audience. Their mission is a
" mashing" one to a certain extent, but it is " mash-
injr " of a vain and bv no means harmful character.
Other ladies are seen in the dress circle and the boxes
who do not disijuise the fact that they have come to
the theatre to fascinate the too, too yielding men. At
the matinees there are women of questional)le repute
who unblushingly advertise their calling and who must
bo set down as a feature most objectionable to the
respectable portion of any community. They behave
themselves as far as words or actions go, but their
mere presence in the play-house is an annoyance that
refined and elegant i)eople cannot tolerate. That is all
about them. Now for the very worst practices that
are occasionally noted in theatres, and that the mana-
irers know verv little if anything al)OUt, — the women
who are there for nefarious purposes, and the men who
BEFORE THE FOOT-LIGHTS. 67
have other ideas than gratifying their vanity or merely
making heart-conquests. It is a notorious and flagrant
fact that fast women use the theatre as phices of assig-
nation, wherein they meet old and make new acquaint-
ances, and it is equally notorious that men whose
whole energy seems bent to the distruction of inno-
cent girlhood make it a rendezvous for the purpose of
selecting and snaring their victims.
It is perfectly safe to assume that the cunning and
sinful pair fleeced George and Harry before they got
through with them.
The very same evening my attention was called by
a young lady to a thinly-bearded, spectacled, sickly-
lookinof middle-ao;ed man who sat in the next seat to
the lady, and who, she complained, had stepped on her
foot several times and in other ways tried to attract
her attention and get her. into a conversation. I at
once recognized the fellow as one of an unscrupulous
set who pored over big ledgers in the Court-House, and
gave the greater portion of their time to discussions
concerning female friends of ill-repute, and to boast-
ing of the ruin they had brought or were about to bring
to some innocent young girl.
The same man was in the habit of buying single
seats in the dress circle and visited the theatre fre-
quently. He represents a class of venerable, but
iniquitous fellows who make a practice of mixing in
among the ladies, in the hope of scraping an occa-
sional acquaintance, and who have no good intention
in desiring to extend the circle of their female friends.
They should be kept out of every respectable place of
amusement.
(68)
fcjELlNA DOLAUO.
CHAPTER VI.
BEHIND THE SCENES .
My first experiences behind the scenes were in a
smiili, dark celhir, owned hy a man who is now a mem
ber of the Missouri Legishiture, and where daily and
nightly a select company of would-be Ethiopian come-
dians of tender age gave performances to small crowds
of children each of whom had paid an admission fee in
pins or corks — for we valued the corks highly as a
necessary portion of our stock in trade ; we charred
many a one to blacken our faces and treasured them as
if they were worth their weight in gold. Our stage
was roughly constructed of boards laid upon barrels ;
bagging material hung around the rear and sides of
the stage to shut in the mysteries of the remarkable
dressing-room we had, and an old gray cloth jind
blanket formed the curtain which parted in the middle
in the manner of the stage curtains of the Elizabethan
age. Bits of candles were our foot-lights and the au-
dience, made up of boys and girls, were satisfied to sit
for hours on rude benches stretched across the width
of the cellar. We played nothing but black-face
pieces, and as they were not taken from books, but
were the memories of sketches we had seen in some
pretentious theatrical resort, they were, of course, short
and entirely crude. No member of that little band
has risen to greatness in the theatrical profession, but
I think every one of them now living looks back
fondly to the triumphs of our cellar career. To me
(69)
70
BEHIND THE SCENES.
f
that rude stage and its gunny-bag surroundings were
more interesting and full of mystery than have been any
of the wonderful and beautiful temples of Thespis
which I have since entered ; and I think when I played
JOHN W. M CULLOLUII.
the part of Epliraim in some hidicrous sketch, and in
response to the okl man's cries from the stage, " Epli-
raim ! Kphraiiii I say l)oy, whar is you?" and I got
up suddenly in the rear of the audience and shouted
BEHIND THE SCENES. 71
back, " Hyar I is, boss!" — when this supreme mo-
ment arrived, and the crowd looked back surprised and
laughed, the glow of conscious pride and artistic
power that filled my heart was as genuinely agreeable
as the thunders of applause that greet Booth or John
McCullough when their admirers call them before the
curtain after a great act.
I have only a dim recollection of my first introduc-
tion to the professional stage. The fiiiry spectacle of
" Cherry and Fair Star" was running at a local theatre,
with EobertMc Wade, of recent Rip Van Winkle fame,
and Miss Wallace in the cast. By some good or bad
fortune'I happened to be loitering in the neighborhood
of the back door of the theatre, when the captain of
the supers called me and hired me at twenty-five cents
a night to go on as imp in one of the spectacular
scenes. I was on hand promptly, and shall never
forget my wonder and astonishment at getting a first
glimpse of the secfets of the stage. It was almost
pitch dark when the back door was entered, and there
was nothing in the place at all suo-orestive of the o-lamour
that the foot-lights throw upon the scene. Huge clouds
of black canvas rose upon all sides, and men and boys
in the dirtiest of workday clothes were the only persons
met. The noise of hammer and saw rose on vari-
ous sides, and it seemed as if the stage had not been
one-half prepared for the play that the curtain would
ring up on within an hour. The dressing-room in which
fifty or sixty boys were arraying themselves looked
like the interior of a costume establishment after a
cyclone had passed through it. But when all were
dressed, and the fairies and the goblins assembled in
the " Wings," and-the foot-lights were turned up and
the orchestra outside was rattlino; throuoh some in-
spiring air, the small boy in impish raiment was im-
72 BEIIIKD THE SCENEfl.
mediately wT.apt into a seventh heaven of dclijirht.
There was a multitiule of girls in very low-necked and
short dresses with jjlowino: flesh-colored ti2;hts that
DO O
seemed such inadequate covering for the rounded
limbs that blushing was inevitable. The brijjht colors
in their cheeks, the blackly outlined eyes and the
blonde wijj^s added to the interest of the new charms.
Every bit of glorious color in the gorgeous scenery ap-
peared to flash out amid the flood of light. I ran
against every variety of demon that was ever known
to jNI. D. Conway, and was pushed out of the way of a
hundred persons only to find myself obstructing some-
body else's progress. The magnificent revelations of
that niffht filled me with awe and astonishment for
many a week afterward. It was the only night I ap-
peared as an im[), for I had accepted the engagement
without parental knowlege or consent, and when they
learned of my success they at once put a decided and
impressive veto upon any further eflbrts in the direc-
tion of the professional stage.
That first experience was not, of course, as a1)un-
dant in opportunities for ol)servation as later experi-
ences have been. The world behind the foot-liijhts —
the mimic world as it is called — is a realm of the
most startling and pleasing kind. Not only is there
food for wonder in what the eye falls upon, but the
people who furnish the fun for the world are often
among themselves as jirolific of pleasantry' as if they
expected the applause of a full house to follow their
jokes. They say and do the strangest things, and for
a visitor who is investigating the mysteries of their
surroundings, often make the time as lively and the
surroundings as enjoyable as it i* possible for really
clever and good-natured people to do. The best time
to go behind the scenes is during the engagement of a
i'„l,lll,ll' ,1' 1,1^1
1
BELLE HOWITT IN "BLACK CKOOK." ( 73J
74 BEHIND THE SCENES.
burlesque or comic opera company, and I will intro-
duce the reader to a happy crowd of this kind that I
•once found myself in.
In 1879 the Kiralfys brought out their spectacular
burlesque entitled "A Trip to the Moon," and I had
the pleasure, during its run, of dropping in behind the
scenes of a Western theatre one night to have a peep at
the pictures there presented. Now, the moon is
something like two hundred and eighty thousand miles
from here — that is the one reputed to be made of
green cheese, and having phases as numerous as the
occasions that ring the April skies with rainbows.
But the Kiralfys' moon Avas in another firmament,
shining out amid stars that, when they wink their
twinkling eyes or shuffle their shining feet, as they do
frequently, the celestial shiners have -got to put on
their cloud ulsters, and sit down while the lachrymose
eyes of the heavens give u[) their tears. That is why
it was raininix torrents the niirht I went hehind the
scenes with Mr. Bolossy Kiral fy. As I went in the
back door Prof. 3Iirroscope, one of the funny charac-
ters in the play, brushed by with a telescope under his
arm that was large enough to i)ut Lord Ross's famous
spy-glass into its vest pocket, if it had one. The
moon to which the trip was to be made was not so far
as two hundred and eighty thousand miles by a half
block or so, but it was a very funny world, full of gas-
light and laughter, and with the most mirthful sports
ima<rinablc on its flowing surface. I Avas inclined
somewhat to lunar ways, and thinking like a great
many other credulous mortals, that the trans-atmo-
spheric trip was really made in a cartridge-built coach
that was fired out of a huge mortar at the rate of al)out
eighteen thousand six Imndred and sixty-six and two-
thirds miles a minute, had fully made up my mind to
BEHIND THE SCENES. 75
ride on the roof or cow-catcher of the concern, at what-
ever risks to life and limb space might abound in, I
expected to find something like a solid space-annihilat-
ing Colnmbiad behind the scenes, but I was somewhat
mistaken.
Just before the curtain was rung up 1 found myself
in the midst of the fairy world upon which the brilliancy
of the foot-liirht falls. While the curtain was still .
down, and before the gasman had opened the flood-
gates of splendor, the place was dark ; not pitch dark,
but pretty dark, compared with the brilliancy that
shown in, over, and around its space a few minutes
later. And then its intricacies, pieces of scenery here,
various properties there, and sections of everything
and anything scattered anywhere and everywhere,
made a fellow feel as if the place was darker than it
really was. Glittering and glowing as the stage
appears before the foot-lights ; wonderfully romantic as
are its shades and lights, its love and laughter ; and
astounding as are its scenic effects ; its area and sur-
soundings are terriblv realistic when the foot-lights are
left behind, and the " business " of a play is once laid
bare. Here the sighs of love-sick maidens and the
spooning of gilt-edged but uncourageous wooers, the
tears of injured innocence and the self-gratulations of
hard-hearted villains who still pursue the flying female,
the prattle of young mouths and the mumblings of
"old men" and "old women," are lost with the
departed scenes of the play in the unceasing desire of
the actors to get back into their proper social and
friendly relations to each other, and, once the prompt-
er's book is closed, stage talk and stage manner are
under metaphoric lock and key, and romance is for a
while at an end.
On opera boufie or burlesque nights, however, a
76
BEHIND THE SCENES.
great deal of the stage charm clings to the characters
even when off the stage, and one is compelled to bo
interested in the grotcsqueness of those to be met in
the side scenes — the odd and often pretty creatures
who stand, sit, lie or lean around in the " wings" at
JNO. A. STEVENS.
their own sweet leisure and pleasure. There is some-
tliiiiir so indcscribablv funny in the costumes, in the
facial make-up, and all that, of the happy opera-boufTor
or festive burlescjucr, that the eye follows a quaint
character throujjh the scenes with the same inalienable
BEHIND THE SCENES. 77
interest as that with which the small boy hovers around
the heels of an Italian with a hand-organ and a monkey.
The eye, however, must not, cannot linger or languish
long upon a single one of these walking wardrobes.
There is a moving panorama constantly in front of the
surprised vision, and before an electric flash could
photograph one single individual in his droll toggery
there would be a dozen or more " shassaying " before
the camera.
There was leaning against one of the "wings" a
naive and sprightly piece of feminine beauty, set ofi" in
the handsomest and most enticing manner in the world
by a well-rounded, gracefully curved pair of pink
tights, a white satin surtout and mantelet, plentifully
besprent with glittering braid and flashing beads,
dainty silk slippers that would have made a Chinese
princess weep with envy, and a jaunty white hat to
match. She was, of course, to figure as the charming
little hero of the evening, if burlesques can be said to
have such things as heroes. A doughty old chap,
with bristling hair and a porcupine moustache,
was standing by talking to little pink tights. He was
gotten up like a circus poster in forty colors, with a
plentiful array of red on his head and legs and a sort
of sickly-looking, rainbow-sandwich built about his
body. Red, blue and black streaks straying over his
features made it appear as if he might have been as-
signed the role of an ogre and was accustomed to
nightly look around for his fair companion to make a
meal of her. I immediately made friends with the comic
horror and the little lady in pink tights and learned
who and what they were. The latter was (in the play,
of course) a nobby young blood known as Prince
Caprice, personated by Miss Alice Harrison ; the red-
legged comedian was King Pin, the young Princess
78 BEHIND THE SCENES.
funny father and Mr. Louis Harrison was hidden
under the remarkable royal disguise.
" Well, when are we going to start for the moon?"
I asked, good-humoredly.
•♦ In a few fleetimc moments," was the regal douefh-
belly's reply.
"And are all these folks going into the projectile? "
pointing to the crowd of curious characters passing and
repassing us.
" Not if the court knows herself and she thinks she
does," put in the Prince, pertly; "only the King,
Prof. Microscope and m3'self ride in the cab."
Prof. Microscope was a long, scrawny fellow. lie
was twirlin£r «i shaijjTy moustache and l)uzzin2: a hand-
some and not at all bashful ballet girl at the same
time, a short distance away. lie was gotten up in a
blue-striped, swallow-tail coat, long enough, if the
Professor cared about lending or renting it out, to be
used for a streamer on the City ILiU llagstafl', and
short enough in the back to have the waist-buttons
constantly challenging the collar to a prize light or
wrestling match. Very tight black pants, a luxuri-
antly frilled shirt front, fluted culTs, and white hair
allowed to grow to the length worn by Buffalo Bill, com-
pleted his outfit. When I was introduced to him, the
Professor swore ])y the bones of Copernicus' s grand-
mother on a volume of patent offioe reports that he
was the sole originator and engineer of the only direct
moon line, and he'd bet his boots or cat his hat that it
never took more than fifteen minutes to make the
trip.
" You see," said King Pin, " that Microscope is a
queer fellow — not a coney man, you mind."
"Although," said the Prince, "he now and then
casts his lot on the turn of the die."
LILLIE WEST,
80 BEHIND THE SCENES.
"Yes, his lot of last year's clothing," the jolly
King remarked, " on the turn of the dyer."
This ellbrt resulted in six of the supers, who were
gotten up in voluminous dominoes with elaborate, but
inexpensive, pasteboard trimmings, and Avho were within
hearing distance, falling stiff and stark to the stasre.
" Does this kind of thing occur often? " I inquired.
*'0h," growled the Professor^ "that gag was
stuffed and on exhibition at the Centennial. It was
found in an Indian mound near Memphis, and is old."
And so the talk went on for a while, when up went
the curtain and King 7-*/?i leaping on the stage amidst the
laughter and plaudits of the house, told how the pretty
Prince Caprice had tired of mundane things and was
heavilv siirhing for the fountain-head of the lambent
silvery moonlight. Microscojje, who was at the head
of the Royal College of Astronomers, was besought to
do something to aid the Prince in accomplishing the
journey to jNIerrie Moonland, and in a neat speech un-
folded his plans for a grand dynamo-etherial line that
would speedily carry the Prince to the wished-for
happy Land of Luna.
Then came the glorious moment when the flight
moon wards was to be made. I hurried around to the
prompter's side of the stage where I saw the mouth of
the huge cannon gaping, and got there as they were
about to fire it. Imagine my surprise to find the extra-
ordinary piece of ordnance made entirely of pasteboard,
a substance that a few grains of gunpowder would l)low
into as many pieces as the leaves of Vallambrosia.
Still the passengers were to be fired out of this con-
trivance, and I felt that if they and the cannon could
stand it, it was none of my business. It had all been
explained to tlie audience, that King Pin, Prince
Cajjrice and Prof. Microscope were the on]y three jier-
PAULINE MARKHAM
BEHIND THE SCENES. 81
sons to be given seats in the cartridge-cab in which the
wonderful journey was to be made. The question
therefore naturally arose, what was to become of the
multitude of characters that crowded the " wings."
There were <' supers " in black, yellow and mottled
dominoes with high papier-mache casques, and huge
ear-trimmings that reminded one of the flaps that
decorate the sides of a Chicago girl's head, or the sails
of a lake lumberman. There were star-gazers with
zodiacal garments and tin telescopes, all set ofi" by
great pairs of soda-bottle-lens eye-glasses, that gave
them the air of a Secchi, or somebody else of astro-
nomical aspect. There were guards who shouldered
tooth brushes made entirely of wood, with index hands
surmounting the tops of their chapeaux and serving to
indicate that their intellects had gone moon-hunting ;
and there were other creatures, among them, horrible
genii, who started for the moon by some short route
across lots and got there long before the regular ex-
cursionists.
But the corps de ballet ! It was everything but a
beauty. If there is anything likely to strike a theatre-
goer as ludicrous, it is an awkward squad of over-
grown girls, with gauze-garnished limbs and dissipated-
looking blonde wigs. A precocious ballet-debutante is a
bit of Dead-Sea fruit shot backward off Terpischore's
head, and if the bullet does not lay Terpsichore her-
self out in a first-class undertaker's style it is because
Terpsichore happens to be in terribly good luck.
These reflections were suggested by a sight of the
intermingling danseuses that kept pretty well in the
rear of the stage. You could tell the height to which
each one could safely fling her foot on looking at her.
The girl who was making her first appearance had not
yet gotten over her splayfootedness, and every time
82 BEHIND THE SCENES.
she took :i })cep iit the audience unci l)eg;iii to realize
the airiness of her costume and gawkiness of her man-
ners, her knees knocked together fast enough to keep
a few notes ahead of her chattering teeth. And her
dress ! thei-e was nothing marvellous about it — noth-
ing that would carry a person off into the ideal linan-
cial realms of a national de])t. It was powerfully
plain with a stiff and provoking eflbrt at showiness.
The next line, who also may be classed as figurantes,
are plainly to be distinguished by their natty air of
sauciness and a noticeable -olipping-off of the super-
abundant clothing that encumbers the latest additions
CD
to the corps. The coryphees, though, are fadiant in
glittering, close-fitting silver mail, and there is ac-
quired grace in their actions, and a high haughtiness
in the toss of their heads. The premieres everybody
understands and recognizes, who has once seen them
pirouette on their toes or slam around in a wild
ecstasy of dancing delight that would give anybody
else a vertigo and lead to numerous and possibly se-
rious dislocations. Well, all these were whispering or
prattling together, in the way of the scene-shifters,
who went around reckless of their lano^uagc, with
sleeves rolled up and anxious faces and questioning
eyes turned upon all whom they encountered there.
It struck me, as I gazed upon this almost naked and
highly interesting ballet, that if the moon had no
atmosphere, as those who know best claim, the cos-
tumes of these gay and giddy girls were airy enough
to stock it with a pretty extensive and healthy one.
Out of this ju!nble of scenery and from tiie midst of
these jostling characters the start was made for the
moon. There was no carriage, no cartridge, no load
in the cannon. Her tri|) as a trip was a most undis-
guised and diaphanous fraud. \\'hile Kiiuj Pin, the
ADAH ISAAC MENKEN, (83")
84 BEHIND THE SCENES.
Prince, the Professor, and the rest were arr;in<nn<T
themselves in a happy tableau behind the second " flat "
bang ! went a gnn fired by one of the supers, across
the stage flew several " dnmniies " or stufled fiirures
in the direction of the roof, the scene opened and lo
the jolly crowd were in Moonland. King Pin, Prince
Caprice and 31icroscope were there together, as fresh
and fair as if they were accustomed to making two-
hundrcd-and-eighty-thousand-mile trips. The mon-
arch of the moon. King Kosmos (W. A. Mestayer),
after having summoned his retinue of Selenites — the
same long-robed, i)illow-stomached and pasteboard-
eared crew who had died behind the scenes a few min-
utes before from an over-stroke of punning -r- and
having things explained to everybody's satisfaction,
came forward and foil on the several necks of the ter-
restrial visitors, was punched in the paunch, by the
King, enough times to set all the Moonites into roars
of laughter, and then thoy all joined in stretching their
necks and rasping their throats in a welcoming chorus
to their guests.
It was unfortunate for the visitors that King Kostnon
had a beautiful little princess of a daughter called
Fantasia (Miss Gracie Plaisted), with a voice that rip-
pled and rolled in music, earthly as the bulbul's notes
and celestial as the songs of the spheres ; and, of course,
foolish little Caprice had to go and fall in love with
her and sing innumerable sweet songs to her, all of
which only got jioor old Pin and his friends into all
sorts of trouble. 1'his they finally managed to get out
of })y returning to mother earth in a gorgeously-aj)-
pointed flying ship, as grand as Clco[)ratra's galley.
Before decamping, however, Moonland was visited in
every part, and its gardens of silver-tinged foliage, its
crystal palaces, that made pale Luna's light more bril-
BEHIND THE SCENES.
85
liant still, its icy mountains with m.ass of frostage,
in and about which the ballet wound in the graceful
rhythm of " Les Flocons de Niege," were all taken in,
MILLIE LA FONTE.
and notwithstanding an occasional hitch in getting the
panorama around, everything in this new and gleaming
sjihere was really glorious for a first-mght visit.
CHATTEK VII.
IN THE DRESSING-KOOM
These same people who appear grotesque, and out
of the pah' of ordinary cvcry-day existence on the
stanfe, are nearly ahvays the most unromantic and real is-
tic-looking folks in the world when you meet them on
the street. The extraordinary metamorphosis they go
through to arrive at an appearance suital)le for pre-
sentation before the foot-lisrhts is a secret of the dress-
ing-rooiii. In the privacy of this carefully guarded
apartment street clothes are laid aside, and what is
more wonderful still, faces, eyes, and hands and lower
limbs, too, very fre(|uently, are subjected to processes
that produce the most remarkable results. Anybod}'
who has seen Nat Goodwin, of " Hobbies " reputation,
will readily understand that it takes a pretty extensive
tiansformation to change his appearance from that of
the man to that of Prof. Pi/(jin(dion Wliijjles, the
eccentric character that makes " Hobbies " the laugh-
able and })0[)ular i)lay that it is. Mr. Goodwin is
young — not more than twenty-four — but I saw hiui
slil) out of liis youthfulncss into llic bald-headed, red-
wigged and merry old professor one night in almost as
short a time as it takes a boy to fall through a four-
story elevator shaft. I accompanied him to his dress-
ing-room one night. He had just a few minutes to get
ready, and was in })roper shape in time to make his
appearance at the upper entrance, amid the crash that
always accompanies his first appearance in the play,
(8(5)
IN THE UKESSING-KOOM.
■ ■ ' ■.■nlllllflH|l||P|,||l[j|||T^'
87
— 1
BALLET GIRLS DRESSING-ROOM.
and gives him an opportunity to make some remarks
ohowt Maj . Bang' s dog, which has ripped his "ulster'*
88 IN THE DRESSING-ROOM.
up the back. Well, Goodwin went to work the
moment he was inside the door. Oil' came the every-
day clothes, and in a jifly on went the one white and
bhick stocking that will be remembered by all who
have seen " IIobl)ies." The shirt, coat, pantaloons,
linen duster and hat that forms the rest of his toilet,
were carefully laid upon a side table. The shirt was
flapped over his head in a second, the pantaloons went
on like lightninii' and then bendins: towards a looking-
glass he dipped his fingers in red and black color
boxes, and soon had the necessary painting done upon
his face. The velvet coat followed the making-up of
the lace ; then the torn linen duster, finally the red wig
with its charming bald "spot, was clapped upon his
head ; the white hat was gracefully tilted over it, and
with a call to the man who pla^^ed Arthur Doveleigh
for his cane and an " I'll see you later " to his visitor,
he bounded up the stairs, and the next moment, as I
left the stage door, I could hear the hand-cla[)ping and
the howls of delight with w-hich a crowded house was
nrreetinff their favorite.
The great value of the art of making-up, as the
preparation for participation in a play is called, both
in the matter of painting the face and costuming, will
be understood when the story told l)y Maze Edwards,
who was Edwin Booth's manairor durini; the tour of
1881-2, is recited. * • * Xhe company got to
Watcrbury, Connecticut, ahead of tlKsir baggage.
When the hour for the performance arrived the bag-
gage, consisting of all their costumes and parajjherna-
lia was still missing. The manager was in a terrible
plight ; but I will lot him tell his own story as he told
it to a newspaper reporter a short time after the occur-
rence.
♦' "When I found the baggage, with the costumes,
Iisr THE DRESSING-KOOM.
89
had not arrived," said Edwards, " I was just going to
throw myself into the river. Tlien I thought I would
go and tell Mr. Booth about it and bid good-bye to
some of the people who had always thought a good
deal of me, before killing myself. To my astonish-
EDWIN BOOTH.
ment Mr. Booth took it as coolly as you would take an
invitation to drink. He said, inasmuch as the people
were in the hall, he would make a few remarks to them
90 IN THE DKESSIXG-ROOM.
about the accident, and then they would go on and
play three acts of " ILunlct " in the clothes thev had
on. And so it was fixed up that way. "Well, the
thoujrht of Hamlet in a short-tailed coat and liji^ht
pants almost made me sick, and when Mr. Booth came
upon the stage, looking like an Episcopal minister,
with a Knight Temi)lar's cheese knife that he l)or-
rowed, I couldn't think of anything but Hamlet. I
forjTot all about his clothes, and I believe if he liad
only had on a pair of sailor's pants and a red llannel
fireman's shirt that the people would only have seen
Hamlet. I tell you he is the greatest actor that ever
lived. The people sat perfectly still, and seemed
wraiiped up in Booth. That is, they were when they
did not look at the other fellows. But when they took
Laertes, with a short, ham-fat coat on, a pair of lah-
de-dah pants and a pan-cake hat, it seemed to me I
could hear them smile. And the King, HamleC s BiQ,\)-
fathcr, he was a siixht. Ima<j^ine a kinij with a cut-
away chcckei'ed coat, a Pullman car blanket thrown
over his shoulder for a robe, and a leg of a chair for a
sceptre, mashed on a queen Avith a travelling dress and
a gray woollen basque with buttons on it. And think
of Pokmins, with a linen duster and a straw hat with a
blue ril)bon on. Oh, it made me tired. Ophelia was
all right enough. She had on some crazy clothes that
she had been travelling in, and we got some straw out
of a barn and some artificial flowers off the bonnets,
and she i)ulled through pretty well. But the Ghost /
You would have died to have seen the Ghost. He had
on one of those long hand-me-down ulster overcoats
with a buckle on the back as big as a currycomb and the
belt was hanging down on both sides. The boys got
him a green mosqtiilo l):ir to put over it, and with a
stuffed club for a sceptre, he fell over a chair and then
IN THE DRESSING-ROOM. 91
came on. I should have laughed if I had been on my
death -bed when he said to Hamlet, ' I am thy father's
irhost ! ' He looked more like a drummer for a whole-
sale confectionery house, with a sort of tin skimmer
M KEE RANKIN.
on his head, and I believe the audience would have
gone wild with laughter if it had not been for Mr.
Bootli. I don't believe you could get him to laugh on
the stage for a million dollars. He just looked at the
Ghost as though it was a genuine one, and the audience
92 IN THE DRESSING-ROOM.
looked at Booth, and forgot all about the ulster and
the Ghofifs pants being rolled up at the bottom. It
was probably the greatest triumph that an actor ever
had for ^Ir. Booth to compel the vast audience to for-
get the ludicrous surroundings and think only of the
character he was portraying. I wouldn't have missed
the night's performance for a thousand dollars, and
when, at 10 o'clock, I heard the boys getting the
truidis up-stairs, I was almost sorry. The last two
acts were played with the costumes, but they were no
better performed than the first. Still, I think, on the
whole, I had rather the bairsffiojc would be there. It
makes a manager feel better."
In the olden times, and in the days of the early
American theatre, the dressing-rooms Avere beneath
the stage, and were by no means the perfect and cozy
places that are to be found in existence at present.
Ilodgkinson, I think it was, who, durnig the last cen-
tury l)uilt the first theatre having dressing-rooms above
and upon the stage. Later improvement has removed
the dressing-rooms, in first-class houses, entirely from
the stage, ample and neatly-furnished rooms being
provided in adjoining buildings. This change has been
necessitated by the demand made upon theatrical man-
agers for greater stage room and better opportunities
than they had heretofore in keeping uj) with the grow-
ing taste for extensive scenic representations with
magnificent appointments. The star of a company,
male or female, always has the best dressing-room the
establishment affords, and it is generally very close to
the green-room. Minor performers share their rooms ;
and the captain of the supers usually has an apart-
ment beneath the stage where he gathers his Roman
mob, or marshals his mail-clad but awkward squad of
warriors ^o better burlesque upon this ill-clothed,
IN THE DKESSING-ROOM.
93
dirty-faced, knock-kneed and ridiculous theatrical con-
tingent has ever been presented either in type or on
the stage, than the character of the Roman Lictor
created by Louis Harrison in San Francisco, and after-
THE THREE VILLAS.
wards relegated to another performer in " Photos."
The story is told that Harrison having been cast for
the part of a lictor in a tragedy in which John McCul-
0-4 IN Tilt: DHESSINCJ-ROOM.
lou«;h took the leading role, ho ^rcw oflciulctl, liavinir
higher aspirations than mere utility business, and de-
termined to make the part funny and, if possible, spoil
the scene. When became on the stage, he was in war-
paint, his face strewn with gory colors and interming-
ling l)lack ; he had on the dirtiest costume he conld
find, with a battered rnsty helmet, and carried the
insignia of his office so awkwardly, while his knees
came together his toes turned in, and liis general atti-
tude was that of a man in the third week of a hard
spree. lie ])rought the house down, spoiled the play
and was discharged for makini; too much of a success
of the part. But this is a digression, and we must
hurry back to the dressing-room.
The most difficult part of the actor's work prelim-
inary to going on the stage is to make-up his face.
By the judicious useof powder and paint, and a proper
disposition of wigs, beard, etc., the oldest man may
be made to assume juvenility and the youngest to
seem to bend with the weight of years. Wigs are to
a great extent reliable, but the old fashioned false
beard is clumsy and apt to make the wearer feel dis-
satisfied with himself and the rest of the world. But
the old fashioned beard is going out of style, and gray
Avool stuck on the face with grease is generally used.
I can recall vividly how a beard of this sort worn by
poor George Conly, the basso, while singing the part
of Gaspard in " The Chimes of Normandy," while
with the Emma Al)l)ot troupe last season, struck me
as the perfection of deception. It always requires a
dresser to put on one of these l»eards in anything like
a satisfactory manner.
An old actor of the " crushed '" type who has l)een
almost forred ofT the stage and into running a dra-
matic college, by the young and pushing eU'ment in
IN THE DRESSING-ROOM. 95
the profession, in an interview had with him lately in
Philadelphia, remarked, as he looked with evident in-
terest upon the crowds in the street : " I like to study
faces. To my mind it is the most absorbing study in
the world — that of men's faces. You see, the thing
has more interest for me than for the run of men even
in my profession, because I'm an enthusiast in a cer-
tain sense. I belong to the times when the study and
make-up of faces was mighty important in the theatri-
cal line. It wasn't such a longtime ago, either; but
the times have changed since then, until now there
seems to be almost no effort at all to make-up and
look your part.
*' It must be a great deal of trouble to make up
every night."
" Oh, but, my boy, look at the result ! Go down to
the theatre, where they still do it, and if only five
years have elapsed between the acts, see how it is
shown on every face on the stage."
" It is difficult to make-up well, is it not?'*
"Well, no," said the actor, lighting a fresh cigar
and assuming a more confidential pose, " the rules
are simple enough, and with a little practice, almost
any amateur could learn to make up artistically if he
has any eye for eflect. Some parts, like Romeo,
Charles Surface, Sidney Darrell or Claude Melnotte,
require very little make up for a young and good-look-
ing actor. The face and neck should be thoroughly
covered with white powder, and the cheek bones
and chin lightly touched with rouge, which should not
be too red. Then, as the lover ought to look handsome,
he should draw a fine black line under his lower eye-
lashes with a camel hair brush and burnt umber.
This makes the eyes brilliant. I'm sure it isn't much
trouble to make up that way."
96
IN THE DUESSINO-KOOM.
SAUAIi litKMlAKUT.
♦' Otliur cbunicters are luirdcr, thou«,Mi? "
'1 Oh, iinincasunibly so. But to niako a maturcr
man, like Cusmo, lar/o, Merculio, John Midioay or
IN THE DRESSING-ROOM. 97
Hawksley, it requires only a little more work. After
the actor has laid on his powder and rouged his face
pretty heavily — for men are commonly rather red-
faced — he must take his brush and umber and trace
some lines from the outer corners of the eyes, and
other lines down toward the corners of the mouth
from the nose. In short, he must make the ' crows '
feet that are visible in all men who have lived over
thirty years in this tantalizing world of ours. Then
the chin should be touched with a little blue powder,
which makes it look as if recently shaved. These pre-
cautions will make the most juvenile face look mature.
If he has to go further, and look like old age, as in
such characters as Lear, Vh'ginius, — for, as I said
before, Virginius, was an old man, — Richelieu, Sir
Peter Teazle, and so on, more work is necessary.
Heavy false eyebrows must be pasted on, and the eye-
hollow darkened and fairly crowded with lines.
AVrinkles must be painted across the forehead, furrows
down the cheeks, downward lines from the corners of
the mouth, and (very important) three or four heavy
wrinkles painted around the neck to give it the shriv-
eled appearance common to old age. The hollow
over the upper lip should be darkened, and also the
hollow under the lower lip. This gives the mouth
the pinched and toothless look. A little powdered
antimony on the cheeivs makes them look fallen in and
shrunken. Then tone the face down with a delicate
coating of pearl powder, and you'll have as old a look-
ing man as you'd care to see.".
"How does it feel?"
"At first your face feels tightened, and the muscles
don't play easily, but after a few grimaces it comes out
all right. It's a great relief to get off, however, after
three hours' work."
98 IN TJIK UliESbl^G-KOOM,
" It inust cause rather inoiinirul lorecasts wIhmi a
man looks on his own face made up for the age of,
say, eighty years."
*' Not so bad as when he makes up for a corpse,
however. I'll never forget the first glance I had at
my face after it had been made up for GaMon s death
scene, Avhen playing the " Man of the Iron Mask," in
'02. It positively ai)[)alled me, sir, and I lay awake
all that night thinking of it, and dreamed of myself
in a coffin for a month afterward."
" How is it done? "
" "Well, it varies slightly. You see, such characters
as Lear, Virginlus, Werner, and Beverly are before
the audience some time before they actually die, and
therefore, their faces cannot be made very corpse-like ;
but Mathias in 'The Bells,' Louis ^I., Gaston and
Danny Mann are discovered dying when the scene
opens, or are brought in dead, so that their faces can
be made extreme. For the last series the face and
neck should be spread with prepared pink to give it a
livid hue in places. Then put a deep shading of pow-
dered antimony under the eyebrows and well into the
hollow of the eye, on the cheeks, throat and temples.
This is very effective, as it gives the face that dread-
fully sunken appearance as in death." The sides of the
nose and even the upper li[) should also be darkened,
and the lips powdered blue. Then the face will look
about as dead as it would three hours after a real
death."
" In the make up of grotesque faces do they use
false noses and chins?"
♦* Very rarely. Usually the method is to stick some
wool on the nose with a gum and mold it in whatever
shape you will ; then powder and paint it us you would
the n:itui;il nose for grotesipic or comedy parts. Paste
THE LATE ADELAIDE NEILSON.
(99)
100 TX THE PRKSSING-KOOM.
i.s put oil with gum, instead ol" wool, sometimes.
Clowns have to encase themselves fairly with whitinj^,
and they lind this trouble enough without l)uilding u[)
noses or cheeks. Grotesque artists have to work hard
with their faces as a rule, but they are often repaid by
discovering neat points. Many of our l)est Dutcii
and Irish comedians owe their first lift to a lucky
make-up."
*' I suppose there are types of the representation of
different nationalities? "
"Well, a gentleman is usually made-up the same,
no matter where he may be supposed to l)el()ng, but
the caricature is usually one of the well-known make-
ups. A Frenchman has to be powdered with dark
rouge, and has his eyebrows blackened with dark ink.
All dark characters, as mulattoes, Creoles, Spaniards,
and so on, are done with whiting and dark rouge, with
plenty of burnt cork and umber."
" Is much Avork necessary on the hands? "
" In witches it is of great importance that the hands
and arms should be skinny and l)ony. This is usually
done by a liberal powdering of Dutch piidv, and })aint-
ine: between the knuckles with burnt umber. Paint-
ing ])etween the knuckles, you see, makes them look
large and bony. l>ut this sounds a good deal like
ancient history, now, does it not? The art is falling
into disuse, my boy, and I've no doubt, the time is not
far oil' when we shall have youngsters jdaying old
men with signs on their baclv reading, ' Please, sir,
I'm eighty years old,' while their faces are as fresh as
aisies.
"To what do you attribute this tendency."
" Laziness. The theatrical age of to-day is a won-
der to me. The entire profession wants to star. An
actor plays old men now simply for a living, while he
IN THE DRESSING-ROOM. 101
matures his plans for his coutemphited starring tour.
An actress does old women heavies or juveniles only
until she can find a capitalist who will enable her to
star, and none of them seem to take any pride in the
minor parts. Hence, they don't take the trouble to
makeup artistically, and the stage is robbed of its chief
charm — realism."
The looking-glass and the pots of paint and boxes of
powder upon the shelves of the dressing-room are as im-
portant adjuncts of the play, and even more important,
sometimes, than the huge boxes and trunks filled with
costumes that are found in the same place. They hold
their place amid the diamond necklaces and brilliant
bracelets of the prima donna, the cheaper jewels of the
dramatic artiste and the crowns of kino-s and helmets
of warriors. Their power is great, and that power
is fully recognized by all who are within the domain
of dramatic art. And the actor or actress, the prima
donna and the swell tenor, all generally make it their
business to attend to their own beautification in this
way themselves. Nearly all star actors carry male
servants who are known as dressers,. and all prominent
actresses have nuiids who accompany them to the
theatre and these help to complete the artiste's
toilets. Formerly there were barbers and hair-
dressers, as well as other specialists, attached to places
of amusement, and whose business it was to shave an
actor or dress a head of hair before the performance.
Many establishments retain these yet, but they are not
as numerous or as well-known as they were before the
days of travelling combinations. Apropos the theat-
rical hair dresser there is quite an interesting story told.
One of this class fell in love with a popular actress he
was frequently called upon to beautify. He confessed
his devouring passion on his knees and she laughed
ft s
■mj^
•^-_ . /
iVT>,
(102)
DKESSING AN ACTRESS HAIR.
IN THE DRESSING-ROOM. 103
him to scorn. More than tluit, she insisted on his
continuing his ministrations to her and made him the
butt of her heartless o-jbes while he was dcvotino; him-
self to enhance her cruel loveliness. The iron entered
his soul and he swore veno-eance. One niffht, when
he had to prepare her for a most important part, he
surpassed himself in the splendor of her crowning dec-
oration. Havinof finished he anointed her jrolden locks
with a compound of a peculiarly fascinating aromatic
odor, which so attracted his callous enslaver's notice
that she asked him what it was.
" It is a mixture of my own, Madame," he replied.
*' I call it the last breath of love."
The actress remarked that she would call him a fool,
and he bowed and withdrew. A few minutes later,
when she appeared behind the footlights, instead of
the roar of applause which she expected, she was
hailed with a tempestuous scream of laughter. Her
discarded lover had had his revenge. He had dyed
her golden locks with a chemical which turned pea
green as soon as it was dry. She dresses what hair
she has left herself now, while he is boss of a five-cent
shaving emporium, never speaks to any lady but his
landlady, and has a Chinaman to do his washing.
If there is a ballet or a burlesque crowd or comic
opera chorus in the theatre the scenes in their rooms
will be of a more diversified nature. • The o-irls in
addition to making their faces pretty, must have their
limbs so shapely that no fault can be found even by
the most cavilling of the gentlemen who crowd up
behind the orchestra while the house holds a host
of female attractions. The rage for limb exhibitions
rendered it necessary that some means should be
devised to hide the calves or poorly turned ankles of
the creatures whose limbs are displayed. HajDpily the
104 IN' THE DRESSING-ROOM.
syiiinietricals, us padded tights are called, were hit upon
and now you cannot find an unsightly piece of under-
pinning in any combination, and even the poor ballet
girl who does page's parts or helps to make up a crowd
for $6 a week, will, if she has sense and taste, go early
to the dealer in theatrical goods and have symmetri-
cals made to suit the exigencies of her case. These
artistic accessories of feminine fictitiousness are leji^o^infjs
or tights w^oven in such a manner the thickness of a
deficient thigh, the iiipe-stem character of a calf, are
filled out with silk and cotton into shapefulncss and
beauty that Venus de Medici herself would not be
ashamed to make a display of. I heard a story a])out
an operatic artist who for a long time refused to play
parts demanding the exhibition even of a fraction of a
limb, and all because her lower members were too
attenuated to attract anything else but ridicule. Lately
she has found her way to the pad-maker's and now can
present as pretty an ankle and as round a calf to the
audience as sister artists who have more flesh and
blood in their composition. Men as well as women
patronize the pad-maker and any actor of the mashing
persuasion who may have had to keep his bandy legs
in wide pantaloons heretofore can now burst forth
upon the sight of his adored in all the gorgeous loveli-
ness and perfection of an attractive anatomy.
MAKIE KOZE.
(105;
CHAPTER VIII.
WITIIIX TIIK AVINGS.
The fjreen-voom, except Avherc stock companies pre-
vail — and there are not more than three or four in tlic
United States now — has passed out of the shadow of
the rigorous rules that sometime ago were posted here,
and that had to be observed. By this I do not mean
(100)
WITHIN THE WINGS.
107
that rules have boon entirely done away with behind the
scenes ; but travelling companies arc governed by their
own rules, carry their own stage manager, prompter,
etc., and the only persons that local green-room rules
could apply to now-a-days would be the four or five
poorly paid young girls who, in their desire to go on
the stage and become stars, start and generally stay at
the bottom of the ladder, whore they are paid pitiful
salaries and continue to "mash" wandering minstrels,
or the equally poorly paid and badly treated members
of some male chorus. These girls usually spend the
lengthy leisure a performance gives them sitting de-
A GREEN-ROOM TABLEAU.
murely on chairs in the corner of the green-room until
the call-boy sends them word that they are needed to
fill up some silent gap in the entertainment. Beyond
these there are few to be found in the green-room dur-
ing a performance. Occasionally an actor will drop in
to pace the floor as he mumbles his lines over, or an
actress, who is tired from standing in the wings, or on
the stage, will hurry in and drop to rest on the sofa.
The side scenes, or " wings," as they are termed, are
the places in which to find almost everybody who has
any business around the stage of a theatre. Under
108 IN THK WINGS.
the stage, in a " nuisic-room," the musicians may bo
found when they arc not harassing the audience with
some unanimously discordant air.
Gathered together in the entrances and within easy
call of the prompter, whose business it has recently
become to mind everyljod}'^ else's business, are the
performers, male and female mingling together, waiting
for their cue to go on. The absence of chairs makes
it necessary for all to remain on their feet, and only
when a friendly " property " that may be used for
sedentary purposes is within reach will a weary actor
CXI" actress take possession of it. Enough has been
said already about the general aspect of affairs l)chind
the scenes and the groupings in the green-room. Now,
let us turn our attention to sonic of the individuals and
incidents of this remarkable little world. The stage
prompter is, probably, as inijiortant a gentleman as we
could first run against. Tlie pr()in[)ter stands at his
desk at one side of the stage, with a book of the play
before him during the entire performance. It is his
business to furnish the players with tiicir lines when
memory fails 'them. lie must be quick to give the
performer the exact word that has thrown him oflf the
track, and just as soon as an actor or actress looks ap-
pealingly towards liiin he knows what it means — that
the performer is " stuck" — and he must run to their
aid at once. His position is almost as responsible as
that of the prompter in the Japanese theatre, who
goes from one actor to the other, during the whole
performance, and, with a lantern i)laced up against the
play-book, reads off tin; lines which the actor is ex-
pected to repeat. lie nmst be at the theatre during
the morning rehearsals ; and he also writes out i)arts ;
changes of scenes ; makes lists of the properties or
articles needed ; and altogether, his position is nothing
IN TIIK WINGS.
109
like a sinecure. A rule of the theatre, that in many
places, has glided quietly out of existence, is to the
eflect that no])ody must lounge in the prompter s
GETTING THEIR " LINES
5'
corner. But they do. Many a fairy queen, with
shining raiment and powerful wand, loiters around to
catch a glimpse of the few lines she has to speak,
110
IN TIIK WINGS.
while dulling little princes in the nicest of tiuhts, or
pirates, or bandits, with symmetrical limbs fully dis-
played, and the softest of hearts beating under their
corsets, get alongside of him, and because they have
had little parts to memorize, and have let them slip
lightly and swiftly beyond their recollection, tease the
prompter to help them regain the lost words.
MILTON NOBLES.
A veteran prompter, who has evidently seen a great
deal of the world beyond the foot-lights, in givmg his
reminiscences, said- " Some actors l)oast that they
never stick. No matter if they have totally forgotten
their lines, they ' say something,' as they i)hrase it, and
I have never seen the diirerenee noted by the andiencc
vet. Once, while I was making the rounds of tlic
Pacific coast, twenty years or so ;igo, 1 wmt to see
a jx-rfoi-mancc of ' Macbeth,' by the company of a
IN THE WINGS. Ill
friend of mine in San Francisco. It was a touirh cora-
pany, a band of regulation old-time barn stormers,
and the fellow who played Macbeth was so far gone in
the dreamy vacancy of whiskey that he ' gagged ' his
part more than once in the first scene. Finalh^ in the
middle of his second, he was also dead lost. He hesi-
tated, but only for a moment. Then he threw his
arms around Lady Macbeth' s waist, and drawing her
to him, coolly said: 'Let us retire, dearest chuck,
and con this matter over in a more sequestered spot,
far from the busy haunts of men. Here the walls and
doors are spies, and our every word is echoed far and
near. Come, then, let's away ! False heart must
hide, you know, what false heart dare not show.'
They made their exit in a roar of applause, and I
thought, ' There's a man who has no use for a
prompter, sure enough.'
"All actors are not like him, however. Raw actors
are the prompter's horror. The debutante is another.
She will forget every line the moment she strikes the
stage, and be so nervous, moreover, that she will not
be able to repeat those the prompter reads to her. I
remember one young lady who thought she had a mis-
sion to play Juliet. She made her appearance, sup*
ported by a country company, and lost every line, as
usual. Wo prompted her through her lirst scene, some-
how. When the balcony scene was on, her mother stood
on the ladder behind her, reading her speeches word for
word, which she repeated after her. But the old lady
was a heavy weight, and the step-ladder was no longer
in the flower of youth ; so, in the middle of the fare-
well, it gave Avay. The old lady was tumbled forward
against the ricketty staging of the balcony, and it fell
against the set piece that masked it in from the audi-
ence. So Juliet, mother, balcony, and all toppled
(112)
IMPROVINd SrAKi: MOMKNTS.
IN THE WINGS. 113
down on Romeo ^ and by the time he was taken from
the wreck he was as mournful a lover as the play makes
him out to be."
Looking around among the players again we find a
114 IN THK "NVINOS.
fairy leaning up against some object with licr lithe
limbs crossed, and she putting in the spare time allowed
her in doing crochet or some kindred work. Perhaps
she is knitting a purse for some distant lover, or maybe
it is a tiny pair of socks for the little ])aby that is wait-
ing for her at home. For many of these youthful,
charming, and heart-breaking fairies and fair bur-
lesqners are married, and frequently their husljands
are in the same company. A story is told of a well-
known and popular actress who brings her hnsband
with her to the theatre every night, and while the old
man — a dear, innocent and uncomplaining old fellow
sits in the side scenes nursing baby with a bottle, on
one knee, and holding an English pug on the other,
while the mother is out before the admiring public
throwing her arms about some strange Romeo, and
clin^ino: to him with all the warmth and allcction of
the fair Juliet's young love.
The story is told of a New York fireman, who made
real love, and too much of it, on the stage. Accord-
ing to the rules of the fire department there, a mem-
ber of the department is ke[)t on duty at every per-
formance in the theatres. "While there he has nothing
to do except respond to any call of fire, and give his
valuable services in suppressing it. liut it is very
seldom that his services are called into recpiisition, and
consequently the position at the theatre is much sought
after by the gallant fire laddies. As a rule, tiie mem-
bers of the department are a fine body of men, but those
detailed at the theatres are very fine-looking and con-
sequently very popular with the actresses at the thea-
tres. The natural result is that tlu; fireman soon has
a ♦' mash," and having unrestricted liberties perambu-
lates through the building without hindrance. Becom-
ing well acquainted with the nooks and corners he is en-
MAKING LOVE IN THE SIDE-SCENES. (l^^)
llfi IN THE WINGS.
ablcd to siuitch a few moments' sweet converse with the
object oi' his tifVections, and in a })hice where they can
commune with one another uninfhienced by the presence
of anyone. But recently the reguhir disappearance of
the lireman of a certain theatre at a stated time l)ecaine
the sul)ject of comment anioniz; the attaches, and an-
other female admirer of the gallant fireman, actuated
possibly by jealous motives, watched him receding
from view and followed his footsteps silently. In an
unfrequented nook among the ruins of ancient moun-
tains, pillars and broad tields — on canvas — stood the
object of her disappointed affections, eni])racing the
fair form of her rival and giving vent to the pent-up
feelings of his heart, while she, coy, and dove-like,
stood, l)lushingly receiving the compliments which
were being showered upon her. This was too much
for the slighted fair one, and the place that knew the
lovimx hearts for many eveninirs is now vacant and
ready for the occu[)ancy of another loving couple.
Another fire lad of the same department thought he
smelt fire one night just before the performance began,
lb; pried around through every nook and corner in the
fidfilment of his dutv, and at last was satisfied that he
had found the place. Ho was not snfliciently well
posted to know that he liad located the incipient blaze
in one of the ladies' dressing-rooms. So in he [)()ppcd
without giving any warning. The girls were dressing
for the ballet and already one of them was in condition
to tret into her svnnnetricals. Imagine the consterna-
tion of the girls at sight of the apparition in blue
clothes, ca[), and bra-s buttons. They hastily got
behind towels and other articles within reach and set
up a screech that came near creating a panic among the
audience. The fire boy did not wait to find the origin
of the smoke, and it took all the persuasive powers of
IN THE WINGS. 117
the manager and company to keep the girls from swear-
m'lLE GERALDINE and little GERRY.
ing out warrants for burglary or something of that kind
against the luckless laddie.
There are a great many other ludicrous things that
118 IN THE ^v^xGs.
have liappcnccl behind the scenes, and l)nt few of
which have reached the public. The legend about
Atkins Lawrence's lion skin, which he wears when he
plays Inr/o?7iar, and which was so heavily si)rinkled
with snuff as a preservative against moths that when
Parthcnia began to woo the barbarian chief and leant
lovingly upon his shoulder she almost sneezed her
head off before the alarmed audience, is told of Mary
Anderson. The Milwaukee Sun printed something
about the same actress, that whether true or false is
equally good. The writer says : — " Tt is well known
that Miss Anderson is addicted to the gum-chewing
habit, and that when she goes upon the stage she
sticks her chew of gum on an old castle painted on the
scenery. There was a wicked young man playing a
minor i)art in the play who had been treated scornfully
by ]\Iary, as he thought, and he had been heard to say
he would make her sick. He did. lie took her chew
of gum and s[)rcad it out so it M'as as thin as p:iper,
then i)laced a chew of tobacco inside, neatly wrapi)ed
it up, and stuck it back on the old castle. Mary came
off, when the curtain went down, and going up to the
castle she bit like a i)ass. Putting the gum, which she
had no idea was loaded, into her mouth, she mashed it
between her ivories and rolled it as a sweet morsel
undci her tongue. It is said by those who ha[)pened
to be behind the scenes, that when the tobacco began
to j;et in its work there was the worst translbrmation
scene that ever appeared on the stage. The air, one
supc said, seemed to be fidl of fine cut tobacco and
spruce gum, and Mary stood there ami leaned against
a j)ainted rock, a })icture of homesickness. She was
pah; about the gills, and trembled like an aspen leaf
shaken bv the Aviiid. She was calm as a summer's
morninLT, and while concealment like a worm in
IN THE WINGS. 119
an apple, gnawed at her stomach, and tore her cor-
set strings, she did not upbraid tlio wretch who had
smuggled the vile pill into her countenance. All she
said, as she turned her pale face to the painted ivy on
the rock, and grasped a painted mantel piece with her
left hand, as her right hand rested on her li^aving
stomach, was, 'I die by the hand of an assassin.'
Women can't be too careful where they put their
gum. "
Actors are not fonder of or indulge more in liquor
than any other class. Occasionally you will find a
member of the profession whose passion for the ar-
dent will lead him far enough to disappoint the public.
Joe Emmet's indiscretions in this direction gave him
world-wide notoriety, and for this reason only do I
mention them here. He is a favorite everywhere and
for that reason the entire public regretted his one fault
among so many agreeable virtues. But Joe has occa-
sioned many comical situations in the side scenes while
actors and manager were plying him with seltzer,
bromide of potassium and other soberatives in order
to get him to begin or finish a play, when there was a
jammed house waiting to applaud him at every turn in
" Fritz." But Emmet has crossed the Rubicon ao;ain
and once more his worldful of friends rejoice in his
happiness and grcf\ying fortune. He is not the only
one in the profession who has been addicted to the cup
that cheers and inebriates at the same time. I have
heard that a pretty and popular soubrette must have
her glass of brandy between the acts, and that an actor
already at the top of the ladder is succumbing to the
seductive and rosy liquid. Still liquor has not made
nearly the number of victims in the ranks of the
theatrical class that it has in other professions, and it
is only alluded to here to illustrate a comical incident
120
IN THE NVIN*GS.
that once occurred dining the engagement of a l)ui'-
lesque combination in Kansas City. It was not known
until six o'clock at night that the comedian of the
comedy was in a sad state of intoxication somewhere
through the town. Parties were sent out at once
aOBEKINO A COMEDIAN.
to look liiin up. They did not succeed in lindinfjc him
until 7 : ;^() when they hurried iiini (o liie theatre. It
was a tcriihh! job to get him into his stage-clothes and
to keep his head steady and his eyes open h»ng enough
IN THE WINGS.
121
to allow his friends to make him up for his part. By
the time this had been done the impatient audience
shouted and whistled and stamped so violently that at
last the manager Avas obliged to ring the curtain up.
Mr. Comedian was in the wings reluctantly accepting
the remedies provided by his friends, while they waited
for his cue to go on. He was fairly sober when he
M'CULLOUGH AS " VIRGINIUS.
reaoiied the presence of the audience and although he
betrayed his condition slightly, few in the house
knew enough about the trouble that had been taken
with him in order that the manager might keep his
word with the public. It is needless to add that Mr.
Comedian was very sorry, and sick when he got sober.
CHAPTKll IX.
STAGE CHARMS AXl) OMENS.
The niglit the Southern Hotel hiinied down in St.
Louis, I was standing at the ladies' entrance when Kate
Chixton, whose i)resencc is now always regarded in a
citviis ominous of a contlajrration, canie down throuffh
the fire and smoke in her night dress and was hurried
across the ptrect and out of damper l)v a e:entleman who
lent her his overcoat while she made her way to
another hotel. There were seventeen lives lost that
terrible night, and a young and beautifid actress —
Frankie ^[cLellan — in a frantic effort to escape the
flames, jumped from a three story window and had her
face marked for life by the fall. Just as soon as i)eo-
plc got over the horror of the first news of the catas-
trophe, gossip turned to theorizing and from that
diversant stories Avere told concerning the prominent
people who figured in the calamity. Then it became
known tiiat Milton Nobles had lost a brand new pair of
lavender trousers, in the pockets of which were several
hundred dollars that " 1'iie Phcenix " had brought
him that same evening. Then too, the narrow escape
of Kose Osborne, of the Olympic stcx-k company, was
recited ; but prominent above all. Miss Kate Claxton's
presence in the hotel was dwelt upon, and, as she had
already fairly earned the unanimous rei)utation that has
since folh)wed her, her name became part of the his-
tory of the conflagration, as it lias been associated with
cvcrv eonflairration that occurred in her vicinaj'c since.
(122)
STAGK CHARMS AND OMENS.
123
/5he is rather uiigallantly and untruly styled the " Fire
Fiend," and all sorts of predictions are made about
the theatre she plays in, the hotel she has her rooms at,
and the very town and county in which she is tempo-
KATE CLAXTON.
rarily domiciled. But Kate Claxton, who by the way
is Mrs. Stevenson, is not the first person in her pro-
fession to have acquired such an unenviable reputation.
Thomas S. Haml^lin, an actor and manager of the early
half of the present century, who came from England in
124 STAGE CHARMS AXD OMENS.
1825 to still' ill " Sliiikospcarc," was followed I)}- tire even
more relentlessly than Miss Claxton has been. No less
than four theatres burned under his nianaijement, and
it Avas generally said "when he luidcrtook to open or
run a place of amusement that from that moment it
was fated to the tlamos. Ilaniljlin liirures conspicu-
ously in the history of the Bowery. II*; died in 1854.
The sailor who braves tlie dangers of the deep is al-
ways blindly superstitious. There is something in the
vastness of the ocean, in its misty immensity ,^in its
magic mirage, its wonders and its terrors, that puzzles
the mind and sets fire to the imagination of jjoor ,Iaek,
and even bewilders his superior otlicers. The artist
who undertakes to sail bef"ore tiie public and to amuse
it for a living is quite as mudi at sea as your genuine
Jack Tar. He or she finds himself or herself on a
veritable ocean, beset by dangers, surrounded liy un-
known and fickle conditions of atmosphere and i)hc-
nomena. All the loiric of the drv land is of no avail
in such a situation. Tlie relations of cause and elfect
are broken up. Magic is the only excuse ior the an-i-
val of the unexpected. The seemingly impossil)le in
results is always the most possible. Once embarked
in the dramatic sea, no one can tell where the voyage
mav end, or what it mav bring forth. A shipwreck
on auriferous rocks ma}' prove a success.
Triumpli may come from ruin ; hai)pincss from dan-
jrer, and the lonufcst vovaire and the richest freii;ht are
often given the most leaky and shallow craft. There
is no knowiniT which ])oat will float the longest on the
dramatic sea — the best equipi)ed or the most shaky
and flimsy. So it is no womler that actors are all
superstitious. They have no compass even to guide
them when l)eset by the varying winds of public opin-
ion. The impossible is always sure to meet them ; so
STAGE CHARMS AND OMENS. 125
they are always on the lookout for magic, and depend
in secret quite as much upon their simple necromancy
as upon their talent or their study. Every star has,
so to speak, a fetich that insures success, or goes
through an imaginary formula to invoke prosperity.
Tlie pul)lic is constantly under the influence of the
voudoo arts of actors, and incantations and mystic
signs rule the world of Thespis and enslave the j^ublic
without its knowledge. Some of these fancies and
formula of intelligent actors are, indeed, more simple
and childlike than those that characterize poor Jack of
the briny deep.
Imaijine, for instance, an actor like John Mc-
Cullough refusing to approach a theatre except by one
route (the one he first takes, no matter how round-
about)* from night to night, for fear of breaking the
charm of success. Imagine, too, a lot of other trifling
things that beset him — signs, omens and the like.
If he stumbles when he first enters a scene it is a siirii
of good luck. If he receives faint applause in the first
scene he is sure to succeed, amid thunderous plaudits,
in the last ; if Forrest's sword, used in the Gladiator,
becomes dim by damp air or other cause, it is a sign
of lack of fervor in the audience of the evening, while,
on the contrary an extraordinary brightness of the
weapon is a sure sign of great success. If a negro
should cross his path while he is on his way to a per-
formance, that is a never-failing omen of a prosperous
engagement, while to encounter a cross-eyed woman
(not a man, for strabismus in that sort of creature
does not afi"ect John, probably because it is only the
woman lie looks at), is a sure sign if not of failure,
at least of annoyance to himself and coldness on the
part of his audience. The Macbeth music is, of
course, his great bugbear, as it is with all actors.
(126)
TliK LATE YEN IE CLANUIE,
STAGE CHARMS AND OMENS. 127
No success could attend any of his performances if
any one were to hum or whistle the witclies' chorus in
the wings or the dressing-rooms. Any poor, inexpe-
rienced devil who might try it would find John, and,
in fact, all the company, wrestling with him, and him-
self lying in the gutter at the back door before he had
warbled through two bars of the fatal music. This is,
in the opinion of every actor, a sure invocation of dis-
aster. Under the malio;n influence of this melodic
devilishness either the theatre will be burned down
(for, if we are to believe the actors and stage tradi-
tion, every theatre that was ever burned in this coun-
try was put under the spell of fire by some singer or
whistler of the witches' chorus), or salaries will not be
paid, or the manager will bring his season to an early
and disastrous end. Something ill is sure to happen
if the Macbeth music is heard, and John shares that
belief in common with even the humblest Roman of
them all who parades his scraggy shanks nightly in
ridiculous contrast with the heroic le2:s of the trage-
dian.
John T. Raymond, while believing faithfully in all
the regular signs and omens of the stage, has his own
special claims to " hog 'em," using the stage vernacu-
lar. He has only one suit of clothes for Colonel
Sellers, and would not have any other under any cir-
cjLimstances. It would change his luck from good to
bad.
"Remark," he says, "there never was a success
continued where a play was entirely re-costumed.
The public interest began to flag always in some mys-
terious way from the time the new dresses came on.
It is the old story of old wine in new bottles. The
wine will burst the bottles. There's oroino; to be no
burst with my wine. I stick to my old clothes as long
as Ihev will stick to me."
128
STAGE CIIAHMS AND OMENS.
Ho has also a lucky $') gold piece, which he always
carries in hi^ vo^t pnrlcpf on tho stno-o, wliatever part
1^.-.-
(jATHh:iaNh: lkwis.
he is playing, and when ho i.s iiorvous and fearful of
lack of appreciation ho has only to rub hi.-j magic coin
STAGE CHARMS AND OMENS. 129
to make everything lovely. In getting out of bed he
will not slip out with the left foot first, lest he may
have bad luck all the day. His dreams decide his ac-
ceptance of a play, and when he is puzzled between
two methods of working up a " point," he is perfectly
satisfied to settle it by the toss up of a cent.
Joe Jefferson is also impressed with the magical
potency of old clothes. He has never changed his
first " Kip Van Winkle " suit, but he has been forced
to have it patched and renovated. His hat, wig, beard
and " trick " rifle — the one that falls to pieces after
his long sleep — are the same that he used when he made
his great success in the part in London fifteen years
ago. He mislaid this gun last season, just before he
played at the Fifth Avenue Theatre, and was forced to
get another. That eno;ao;ement was his first failure,
and a bad one. He has found the old rifle, and, the
charm being now complete again, he has opened the
season with a very successful week in Brooklyn. Joe
would break an engagement in any theatre if a dog
were to walk across the stage at the first rehearsal.
That is a sure sign of death, loss, or fire, as every
actor knows. A cat parading the coulisses or walking
with dainty tread across the scene, however (even at
an evening performance), would be hailed by him and
colleagues with delight as an unfailing sign of pros-
perity, health and renown.
Sothern felt that he was sure to fail with his audi-
ence if his valet, by an accident, handed him his wig
before his coat was on, while, if he put it on his head
at the last moment, and not before the voices of the
call-boy was heard summoning all on for his first scene,
he had •' got 'em dead to rights."
Florence, like Raymond, carries a lucky $5 gold
piece, and believes the charm of his popularity reposes
130 STAGE CHARMS AND OMENS.
in the fact that he always puts on his costumes in a
ncvcr-vaiying order, and never changes his old brushes
and articles of " make-up." He, too, is afraid of tlie
necromantic powers of the evil-omened dog, and be-
lieves in the magic spells of fairy grimalkin. If the
orchestra plays a waltz between the first and second
acts of his piece, success is more likely than ever to seal
his eflbrts of the evening.
Mrs. Florence, on the contrary, does not believe in
old clothes, but quite the reverse. She thinks, how-
ever, that birds (canaries, or any other variety) are sure
to bring bad luck, and will not })lay in the company
where there is a cross-eyed girl. The cross-eyed man
doesn't count. If the prompter should tear a page of
manuscript accidentally, or, moreover, if the page
should contain the name or a speech of the character
she is acting, there is no use in hoping for a great
furor that evening, for there will be nothing but dis-
appointments in the making of points and contretemps
in the management of the stage. If the prompter
turns out the foot-lights or a row of border-lights,
swift disaster is sure to come on the theatre. This
was never known to fiil in her experience.
Booth will never u-o on the staijfc, no matter how
late or hurried he may be, without first pacing three
time across the green-room, mumbling over not the
first, but the very last speech of the piece he is to play
that night. Then he walks ou, sure of his triumph.
If he should fail in his fornnila, the audience would be
cold and unappreciative. It has been his custom to
have Desdemona'.s couch set in the second entrance on
the stage, left in the last scene of " Othello." Ac-
cording to the old style, the couch should bo set in the
centre door, behind curtains, exactly in front of the
audience. Booth believes in signs, however, and
STAGE CHARMS AND OMENS.
131
should he consent to have De^detnona slunil>er in iiny
other pkicc than U. E. L. ho woukl h)sc his charm in
the character of lago.
Frank Chanfrau believes in the. efficacy of old
CHANFKAU.
clothes. He has only one suit in ITif, and his success
is unvarying in that piece. He hates dogs on the
stage, believes in cats, knows birds are bad luck, is
convinced that a house decorated in a prevailing hue
132 STAGE ClIAUMS AND OMENS.
of decided blue is sure of ill-fortune, jind shudders at
the mere mention of the Macbeth iimsic. He has
steered clear of all these evil influences durinir his
stage career, and has been uniformly successful.
Oliver Doud Byron has a special claim in addition
to the regular superstitions of his class. lie has a
certain tattoo mark of India ink on his riirht forearm.
When he rolls up his sleeves for his " terrible com-
bat" in the last act of ''Across the Continent," he
must uncover that mark without looking at it, or his
fetich is not complete, and the charm of his prosperity
will be broken.
Charles Thorne believes his success lies in the fact
that he always steps on the stage in the first scene
with his right foot foremost, and keeps it in advance
until he has delivered his first speech. This done, be
is safe and sure of a " Avalk over " before his critics.
Once or twice he has inadvertently stepped Out with
his left, and on these occasions he has failed, or the
})iece has fallen Hat. Such an accident happened him
on the first niirht of "Lost Children." Manaij^er Pal-
mer, of the Union Square, who has also become a vic-
tim of stage superstitions, is fearful of Thorne stei)ping
out with his terril)lc left foot on a first night, just out
of retaliation for some slight or disaij^reement. Thorne,
possessing tills magic power for good or e\il, not at
his fingers' ends, but at the ends of his toes, is a ter-
ror to the establishment, and on first nights is treated
with distinguished consideration by the entire com-
pany. No one gets in his way when he is about to
make his stage entrance on ;i first night, lest ho may
1)0 thrown out of step and advance with sinister elToct
upon the scene. Thome's right foot once put forward,
every one breathes freer and plays with greater vim.
The critical point of every new play, therefore, lies,
STAGE CHARMS AND OMENS. 133
though the critics may not think it, in the mahgn or
favorable magic of Thornc's feet, according as he puts
them forward.
Adehiide Neilson was as superstitious as all actresses
are. Her evenly-balanced beauty and brains did not
free her from the slavery of omens. She carried about
with her, ever since her first London success in Juliet,
a lucky silken rag — a dingy, straw-colored drapery —
which she insisted upon hanging over the- railing of
the balcony when Juliet breathes her complaints to
the moon. Without this, the fair Adelaide was sure
she could not succeed in the scene in any part of the
world. She brought the silken r;ig across the water
with her again and again. The drapery was somewhat
faded and tattered from long service in the two worlds,
but she still clung fondly to it, and said it was pos-
sessed of all its olden magic.
Lotta sleeps three hours by daylight, but if she
should wake up ten minutes before the usual time (just
the time to rush to the theatre) the fates are against
her, and she will not do well that evening. Tf any one
whistles in a dressinsf-room within her hearino; Avhile
she is donning her costume, she is sure the person is
" whistling away her luck," and the house is going to
be bad.
Fanny Davenport would not, for any consideration,
miss rearranging her wig before the green-room mirror
just previous to going on the stage. She has a regular,
unvarying formula to go through to guarantee success.
She first presses her hands to the sides of her head to
be sure the springs are firmly fixed (although she has
just had her dresser make that sure in her dressing-
room), then gives the " bang" three smart tugs, puffs
up the frizzes with a nervous twitch of her fingers,
presses the entire wig down from the top of her head,
134
STACK CHARMS AND OMENS.
ffives her silken trail a final kick to indiicc it to unfold
itself, and then rushes pell mcU to the staije in answer
to the alarming cry of " stage waiting." Without this
formality she would not be herself the whole evening.
[•■•-■'■\
i/
>,,
J
.■'■^^^^*r_ j^^ ^
FANNY DAVKM'OUT.
Clara Morris believes in the efficacy of a small medi-
cine vial, which she carries (empty) through every
scene, she says, through habit, though it is fair to
presume, through superstition. Without the vial she
could not jjret alonif.
STAGE CHARMS AND OMENS.
135
Neilson also had a vial — a special one — which she
insisted should only he used for Romeo^s poison po-
tion. She would handle no other, and has been known
to have the bill changed because the vial was mislaid,
and would not allow " Komeo and Juliet "to be put
up for performance until it was found.
Frank Mayo thinks his magic lies in an old fur cap
and a hare's foot,
for rou2;ing, which
he had ever since
he has been on the
stage.
Boucicault trem-
bles and is sure of
failure for any one
of his pieces which
is greeted with mf -
commendation by
all the actors with-
out a dissentins:
voice. If the play-:|
ers condemn hisi
piece at the rehear-
sals, he is sure the'j
audience will like':
it. But in any event^
no play of his can
be a success unless
he tears off the cov-
er to the first act, and makes away with the title page
at the last rehearsal.
Maude Granger has a certain magic smelling-bottle
which she puts to her nostrils just before going on the
stage.
Maggie Mitchell attributes her success in " Fan-
DION BOUCICAULT.
13()
STAGE CHARMS AND OMENS.
chon " to Jill old pair of shoes which she wears in that
piece.
Eliza Wcathcrsby hates birtls, doesn't like whistlers,
and has for her special charm an embroidered rose,
which alwa^-s ai)pears on her dress or lights, according
to the style of part she may l)c playing.
Paola-^Iarie, the
little Parisienno of
Gran's opera
boufle, has a pet
pug (log which she
always fondles at
the side-scenes for
luck, before going
on the stage. This,
too, to the intense
horror of the rest
of the company,
who think dogs in
theatres bad luck.
Sara Jewctt im-
agines that she com-
mands success and
enslaves her au-
diences by walking
through her posi-
jms. BOUCICAULT.
tions on the stage
in her first scene
every night before the curtain is rung up for the play.
The managers, too, .share this weakness of their
actors. None of them would change; their ticket-
boxes for fear of a change of luck. AVhen they move
they take their ticket-boxes with them. Wallack has
the same boxes that were used at tlie doors of his
father's theatre years ago, and Daly has those which
STAGE CHARMS AND OMENS. 137
received the pasteboards during his first season of suc-
cess. When Tony Pastor removed from the Bowery
to Broadway he took his boxes over there, and has
them with him now in his tour over the country.
With all our modern innovations and realism, we have
not made any inroads on the folk-lore of the drama.
The theatre is still fjxiry-land, and its creatures, though
not fairies themselves, commune with them closel3^
Actors like many other people have a perfect horror
of the number thirteen. The only man in the profes-
sion who openly defies the superstition attaching to
this number is John R. Rosrers, the mana<z:er of the
" My Sweetheart " Company, of which Minnie Palmer
and Robert E. Graham are the star features. Rogers, it
is said, not only got together a company of thirteen peo-
ple, in which the thirteen letters of Mr. Graham's name
stood out in uninviting prominence ; but he began his
season on Friday, the 13th of the month, and in other
ways wooed a dire and speedy fate for himself and his
people ; but good luck appears to have attended him,
and he is still defiant as ever of the terror-laden and
ominous number. In contradistinction to Mr. Roo;er's
success, the failure of another combination may be
given. Frank L. Gardner, who has thirteen letters in
his name, brought out the play " Legion of Honor,"
whose title is composed of exactly thirteen letters, and
had Samuel W. Piercy, — who died last winter in
Boston, while supporting Edwin Booth in his tour, —
for leading man, and by doing so freighted down his
enterprise with another ill-starred feature, for Mr.
Piercy' s name contained thirteen letters. The play
failed, and the superstitious people of the profession
immediately attributed the failure to the presence of
too many baker's dozens in the organization. A cer-
tain well-known prima donna whose engagement was
138 STA(iE CIIAUM.S AND OMKNS.
to begin on the 13th of the niontli Avent to the im-
pressario and begged to have the date changed ; she
said she knew she wonld have no luck if she bcijan to
sing on the date provided for lier ; besides that her
friends had persuaded her that fortune would only
frown upon her if she made her first appearance on the
13th. The 12th was Friday, another day fraught
with frightful evil to the sinsjiufj and actiniii: fraternity,
so rather than make an unlucky beginning, the prima
donna opened on the 11th, and sang two nights for
nothiuir, althouijh two niixhts' warl)ling under her con-
tract meant an amount of money that would make a
poor man's head swim.
The New York Dramaiic News \\\ a late number
contained a funny story al)out Harry Courtaino and
John E. Ince, both gentlemen "well and favorably
known in the profession. Mr. Ince had solemnly pro-
fessed his non-belief in good or bad luck, after which
he was invited by Mr. Courtaine to walk with him.
The News tells the story in this happy style : To a
query as to where he was going, Mr. Courtaine replied
that he was to make an cmiaii-ement for the cominji:
season with a gentleman now awaiting him at the
Union Square Hotel, " and I want a witness," he said,
" but I wouldn't have one of those superstitious fel-
lows with me for all the world. They, make me
ashamed of myself with their besotted — "
Mr. Courtaino stoi)ped suddenly and turned deadly
pale. " TT( TO, here!" he cried, "cross fingers,
quick!" and seizing Mr. luce's hand, he crossed the
forefinger of liis own over it while a tramp with one
arm slouched by them. " 1 saw him over my left
shoulder, too," nmrmurod Mr. Courtaine. *' Dear
me 1 dear me I how exceedingly annoying 1 '*
«' What's the matter? " asked Mr. Ince, whom tiie
STAGE CIIAKMS AND OMENS.
139
performance of his companion had thrown into a pro-
found amazement. "Don't you feel well? What
is it?"
''Nothing," replied Mr. Courtaine, in some confu-
sion. "A slight twinge of my old gout. Those fel-
ss^sN^;':vy;«vvi«.yi'.>-.y^^s;^ms"
rimxSa^ I
MAUD GRANGER.
lows on the square are enough to give a man the colic,
with their eternal talk about Jonahs, unlucky houses,
hoodoo managers and the like. I don't know any-
thing I detest more than superstition," said Mr. Cour-
140 STAGE CIIAUMS AND OMENS.
taine, witli indignant fervor. " I think it is a lower
and more debased vice than hal)itu:il drunkenness.
If there was a law passed to make it a capital oflence,
I'm d — d if I wouldn't serve as hangman without ask-
ing a cent pay."
At this juncture an old woman, enveloped in an
odorous combination of rags and liquor, seized j\Ir.
Courtaine by the sleeve and rolled two eyes, which
squinted across at each other almost at right-angles,
towards the sky, as she Avhined : —
" Please, good gentleman, a penny to buy a poor
widow bread. Only a penny, dear, handsome gentle-
man, and God go with you."
Mr. Courtaine dove into his pocket to respond to this
artful appeal, and as he did so, glanced at the old
woman. Tlien he l)egan a performance Avhic^h plunged
his companion in a stupor of wonder. Crossing his
forefingers, he deliberately spat upon the ])avcmcnt
over them, and then turning in a circle, repeated the
expectoration at each of the four points of the com-
pass. This accomi)lished, he mopped the perspiration
from his pallid brow, and shuddered visibly. " It's
Friday, too," he muttered. "D — n it all ' I might
have known it."
" Known what? " asked Mr. Ince.
"Let's go down to Thciss's and get a beer," said
Mr. Courtaine abruptly and irrelevantly.
*' You'd better see your man first," suggested the
prudent Mr. Ince.
"Oh, no. lie can wait; besides I think it's too
late to catch him in now. I'll hunt him up to-mor-
row. Come along."
The libation performed, Mr. Ince suggested that
they should drop in at the matinee at Pastor's. Mr.
Courtaine favored a stroll. Mr. Ince suggested that
STAGE CHARMS AND OMENS. 141
his programme would turn out the most pleasing one,
and Mr. Courtaine said: "Hold on; Ave can easily
see;" and producing a half-dollar he flipped it, ask-
ing, " What is it? "
" Heads," answered Mr. Ince.
" It's tail," remarked Mr. Courtaine. " So the
stroll will turn out best. Let's be moving."
They inoved along, and as they passed a fruit stand
Mr. Ince remarked: "Hello! there are some straw-
berries . ' '
" Ze first-a of ze season a-Signore," said the Neapoli-
tan nobleman, who presided over the destinies of the
stand, with a bow of invitation, " ze very first-a, only
feefty cent-a ze box-a."
*' By Jove ! " cried Mr. Courtaine, picking out three
of the finest and leaving the box a quarter empty,
" now, then, Ince, make a wish."
"What for? " demanded Mr. Ince, making a raid on
the box on his own account.
" Never mind," replied Mr. Courtaine, evasively,
" only whenever you eat new fruit or vegetables make
a wish."
And he posted the strawberries into his oratorical
orifice, and walked off", leaving the fruit vender foam-
ing at the mouth, and snarling " corpo di diavola!
zese actor 'ave-a ze sheek-a of a policeman. Oh !
Madonna mial Eef zem boys 'ad not steal-a my
club!"
The stroll was varied by no further incidents except
that Mr. Courtaine walked a block around to avoid
passing a drunken man, and nearly lost his life snatch-
ing a cast horseshoe up from in front of a street-car.
As they turned homeward Mr. Courtaine's eyes singled
out a lady approaching with an armful of bundles, and
he commenced a species of maniac gavotte, waving his
142 STAGE CHARMS AND OMENS.
hands at her and shoutinjx: '< Go into tho street.
Iloy ! Iley ! look out for the ladder !"
And when in spite of his adjurations, Mrs. Cour-
taine — for the lady was none other — walked under a
ladder leaninijaixainst tho side of a risiuij: buildinu:. He
sank upon a row of beer keirs and fastened a cuniula-
tive grip on Mr. Ince's arm, cxelaiming — " Did you
witness it wasn't my fault? I warned her in time,
didn't 1?"
" Do you remember my wife %valking under a ladder
yesterday?" observed Mr. ('ourtaine to Mr. Inco on
the morrow.
"Yes, wdiat of it?"
" Well, when we got home we found thecal had
killed the canary bird — • killed and ate it all but the
tail feathers," said Mr. Courtaine triumphantly.
" Now what do you think of that? Here come around
to Theiss's or we'll have those fellows around us with
their infernal low-minded superstitions again."
PORTIA AND SHYLOCK.
POBTIA : — Nay, if the scale do turn
But in the estimation of a hair,
Thou diest, and all thy goods are confiscate.
Merchant of Venice, Act IV., Scene 1.
CHATTEK X.
NOT DOWN IN THE BILL.
Some very queer things happen behind tlie scenes,
and even on the staixc in full view of the audience —
occurrences that often mar the i)leasure of the play
for the people in the auditorium, and raise the wrath
of the performer. Anything out of the usual run
of business that occurs behind the scenes throws the
players off the track frequently. There is a great deal
of work jToing on at all times, out of si<i:ht or knowl-
edge of the audience, and a slight disturbance may be
an interruption fraught with dire disaster. There are
actors and actresses in the Avings, often, completing the
memorization of their parts — " winging" parts, as it
is called — or it may be going over their lines again,
if they are not confident that they have full possession
of them ; ami to these i)eople, of course, an inter-
ruption is a matter of the merest moment. Actors
and actresses have always been credited with good
memories, l)ut even the best memory may sometimes
be thrown off the track, and, indeed, sometimes is,
by an untoward or startling incident.
Speaking of memory, reminds me that an actor
once memorized an entire newspai)er, when they were
smaller than now, in a single Jiiirht. The actor was a
man named Lyon, Avho was playing small parts through
the country. An English actor connnittcd the contents
of the London Tifiir^, advertisements and all, within
a week, besides studying a new part for every night.
(144)
NOT DOWN IN TIIK 15ILL.
145
The feat was accomplished on a wager. An actor in
London, sat through a play, and although he had
Itc-rn i —
i|rl'i:l|i|'i|lli I 'i ' I
Wl 'I ,'| ' |i
!Wi ' ;ni,i'''
ii'ii'lii'iiii Mill,
J 'II, I .ii nil, I
[|ii;iWI'iiii''i1''iii|i'
i,iii'iih I i'"
rf I" 'if
,,,i,"ii'|i'
i'iriii.|ii' '
iii''i||i|''i
iirww iVi
ii'!i,iii|i'iii
ii'iiiiii 1 ,1
III ,iiii
I '\4 < I
'ilVi 11 I'l , ii ill
i|,i,|'i,i|H|,ii i|Vii if
'ii'i'i,' 'I' I I /I'l-
I'll I , I '
ii''; i'\'iiiii
1 1 1 III
J I ■iilli 'ii' I
I.I £
LIZZIE M CALL.
never seen it before, could repeat every line and word
]0
141) KOT DOWN IX TlIK I'.ILL.
of it when he got lioino. lie sat down and wrote it
out, and the copy thus written was used for the per-
formance of the phiy in New York. Many readers
will recollect the New York couple prosecuted by the
xMadison Square Theatre Company for selling copies
of "Hazel Kirke " to companies that had no right
to play the drama. The wife, it was explained, went
to the theatre, sat the play out a few times, and dic-
tated the lines to her husband from memory. She
had been an actress. There are many other remark-
able instances of swift and retentive memories in the
profession, but one of the most astonishing of all
these feats is what is known as " winging a part," an
expression I have used before in this chapter. This
consists in ijoing on the sta<re without having studied
the lines at all, the actor carrying the book in his
pocket, and -pulling it out evefy time he gets out
of sight of the audience, studying the part in the
*' winds'' until he receives his cue to go on ai^ain.
This method of going through the part continues
during the performance, the actor speaking the lines
to the best of his ability, and following the text as
closely as possible.
Returning to the subject of the chapter, there arc
several instances of actors and actresses, prominent and
minor, receiving their death strokes on the stage while
playing. Mistress Wofiington, known as "lovely
Peggy," while playing at Covent Garden, London, May
3, 1757, fell to the stage a1 the end of the fourth act of
"As You Like it," in which slu; was \)]iiy\ug JRosaJind,
and after muttering "() Clod! () fJod ! " was car-
ricd home to die after a lingering conlinement of three
years to her ])ed. George Frederick Cooke received
liis death ^Iroke in New York, while i)laying )Sir
(rihs Ovcrrear/i, and IMinund Kcan di('<l in England
NOT DOAVN IN THE BILL. 147
under similar circumstances. The elder Kean and his
son Charles were playing together, the former having
the role of Othello^ the latter that of lago. The date was
March 25, 1833. The event, says a chronicler, created
great excitement among play-goers ; the house was
crammed. Kean, who had worn himself out with dis-
sipation, went through the part, " dying as he went,"
until he came to the " Farewell," and the strangely
appropriate words, " Othello's occupation's gone."
Then he gasped for breath and fell upon his son's
shoulder, moaning, " I am dying — speak to them for
me ! " And so the curtain descended upon him - — for-
ever. His wife had separated from him. " Come
home to me ; forget and forgive ! " he wrote her after
he had been conveyed to Eichmomd. And she came.
An hour before he died he sprang out of bed, exclaim-
ing, "A horse, a horse, ray kingdom for a horse!"
and he expired with the dying words of Octavian,
"'Farewell, Flo Floranthe ! " upon his lips. This
was on May 15, 1833, and he was buried in Rich-
mond churchyard. Instances of the same appalling
kind might be multiplied, but it is not the purpose of
the writer to cover the stasfe with gloom, or to cause
death to masquerade any more than is absolutely nec-
essary before the foot-lights. More interest will be
felt, and the heart will be lighter and the appetite
better, if we turn to the ludicrous incidents that have
caused audiences ready to shed tears over a traged}^, to
turn from the lachrymose attitude to one which might
be represented as laughter holding both his sides.
Sol Smith tells 'a funny story about his earliest ex-
periences on the stage ; how he stole in through the
back door before the performance, and hid in what he
thought was a chest, but which turned out to be the
coffin used in the play that evening, and when it was
(148)
•' PIN UP MY SKIRTS.
NOT DOWN IN THE BILL. 149
carried out on the stage young Smith was so terrified
that he pushed up the lid and bounded out, to the sur-
prise of botli actors and audience. N. M. Ludlow,
who was Smith's partner in the theatrical business, re-
hites a somewhat similar incident about himself.
The awkward position of a " masher " who gets into
the " wings " by some hook or crook is often extremely
laughable. I saw a serio-comic vocalist — as the
songstresses of the variety stage are named — astonish
a well-dressed and admiring gentleman who was loung-
ing around at his leisure, — having in some mysterious
manner passed the stage door-keeper, — by handing
him a pin and remarking, " Pin up my skirts." The
man's eye-glass was knocked .out of place by the im-
pertinence of the demand, but he took the jDin and
obeyed the lady's command, and this, too, notwith-
standing a second female in tights, was near by, who
could have done the job a thousand times better. It
was the sweet singer's little joke, though.
Charlotte Cushman and her sister were playing in
Trenton, New Jersey, one night. The bill announced
was " Romeo and Juliet," with Miss Cushman in her
afterwards famous impersonation of the male character
and her sister as Juliet. The ball-room of the town
which was used as a theatre, when occasion required,
was sadly lacking in scenery and properties. The sis-
ters went to work, however, and succeeded in ffettin<r
together everything they needed for the performance,
except the balcony in the garden scene. After looking
around they found an old bed-quilt, patched, and
abounding in numerous colors ; it was arranged that a
colored bell-boy from an adjacent hotel should, while
stationed in the side-scenes, out of view, hold up one
end of the quilt while the fair Juliet supported the
other. The boy was on hand in the evening, and
150 NOT DOWN IN THE BILL.
everything went swimmingly mitil towards the end of
A-^.NJl^ iiXl.i.i A.^ ■' .>i 1-ISS.
. »>
the scene, and in :i mo.st tender part, the darkey stuck
his head out from the side and said; **I say, Miss
NOT DOWN IN THE lilLL.
151
Gushing, I hear my bell ringiii' an' Ize obliged to let
my side ob de house drap ! " He dropped the quill;
and not only the balcony, but "the house" — the
THE CALL-BOY S EEVENGE.
audience — came down, and that brought the scene to
an abrupt and ridiculous end.
152 KoT i)OM'\ IN' Tin-: rill.
Another occasion that was a source of nifinitc amuse-
ment to an audience that had been fully worked up to
tragic interest in the play of " Hamlet," occurred at
Baltimore, Maryland, a short time ago. The actor
cast for King Claudius had given some offence to the
call-boy — treated him badly in the presence of the
company — so the boy made up his mind to have am-
ple revenge, lie got a needle, fitted a long piece of
thread in it, and then placed it in the cushion chair
that answered for the King's throne, in such a way
that when the time arrived, by a simple jerk of the
string he might move the needle skyward. He waited
until Claudius was supposed to be most interested in
the scene before the players, when jerk went the thread,
and King (Claudius, with an alacrity unbecoming roy-
alty, bounded out of his chair as quickly as if he had
suddenly eat down upon the sharp end of a lightning
rod. He dropped his sceptre and shouting " Ouch ! "
and nursing the injured part of his anatomy, jumped
and danced around as if he had just caught sight of
IlamleCs father's ghost. There was an interruption
to the scene that the audience filled in with boisterous
laughter. After the act the King, instead of sending
one of his officers or guards for the call-boy, as be-
fitted his exalted station, went scouring around the
scenery himself, muttering the wildest threats and ap-
plying names to that i)()or boy that he could hardly
have won for himself if he lived to be a thousand years
old. It is hardly necessary to say that the call-boy did
not wait around until the end of that act.
Mrs. Farrel, who was an actress of abjlily in her
time, after being hissed in the part of Zaira, the
lieroine of •* The Mourning Bride," and particularly in
the dying scene, rose from the stage, and, approaching
the foot-lights, expressed licr regret at not having mer-
NOT DOWN IN THE BILL. 153
ited the applause of the audience, and explained that
she had only accepted the part to oblige a friend, and
hoped she would be excused for not playing it better.
After this little speech she once more assumed a re-
cumbent position, and was covered by the attendants
with a black veil.
On one occasion a danseuse was listening to the pro-
testations of an elderly lover, who was on the point of
kissing her hand, when, as he stooped down his wig
caught in the spangles of her dress. At that moment
she was called to the stage, and made her appearance be-
fore the audience amid general laughter and applause ;
for on the front of her dress was the old beau's wig
or scalp, hanging like a trophy from her belt. The
applause was renewed when a bald head was seen pro-
jecting from the wing in search of its artificial cover-
ing. Stories, too, are told of imprudent admirers,
who, having excited the jealousy of the stage carpen-
ter, did not take the precaution to avoid traps, and as a
consequence found themselves shot up into the " flies,"
or hastily dropped down to the dismal depths below
the stage.
It is a very common trick to let people through a
trap-door. I was present several times in the theatre
when victims were carried down to the black and un-
inviting space below the stage. At a benefit given to
a popular treasurer in St. Louis, a well-known young
man who was in the liquor business was prevailed upon
to appear in the programme and was put down for a
lecture on temperance. The house was crowded that
night, and P H was there in all the glory
and wealth of his wardrobe, fully prepared to entertain
the audience for half an hour or so. One of the boys
had had the pleasure — so he termed it — of hearing
H read his lecture through, and he gave the
154
NOT DOWN IN THE BILL.
others the cue for the fun. The lecturer's table was
placed just at the edge of a trap, and a trick candle,
one such as is used in pantomime, and that keeps ou
TnOS. W. KEENE.
growing taller and taller as the clown in vain tries to
get within reach of the flame, stood at one side of the
piece of furniture. II —
went on the stajxo bowinff
NOT DOWN IN THE BILL. 155
his neatest and smiling his sweetest. He was, of
course, received with " thunders of apphiuse," and
storms of the same kind interrupted him at frequent
intervals. At last the place was reached where the
fun was to commence. " Ban"-!" went a gun iu the
air, the thunder rolled, there was red fire, and the
floor parted. Down went H slowly, and up went
the candle. He was so terror-stricken that he could
do nothing, and was left to grope his way through the
darkness to the stairs. The language he used when
he once more found himself amons; his friends was
stronger and less elegant than were the jjhrases of his
lecture. He appears at no more benefits.
A young society man now of Cincinnati was treated
in the same way, a trap having been left open upon
which he stepped in the middle of a play in which he
took the leading part with a company of amateurs,
when down he went, to the dismay of his friends, the
delight of the young fellows who had "put up the
job," and to his own horror. In Leadville, Col., a
serio-comic singer who had incurred the displeasure of
one of the stage hands, was retiring into the side
scenes bowing gracefully and kissing her hand to the
audience, when suddenly down went one of her pink-
clad limbs through an open trap, and her moment of
triumph was turned into one of ridicule, and in addi-
tion to her mortification the leg was broken. Such
tricks are always dangerous and more frequently are
followed by mourning than fun.
Powell, the English actor, sought in vain one night
for a " super" who was wont to dress him, but who
on this occasion had undertaken to play the part of
Lothario's corpse in "The Fair Penitent." Powell,
who took the principal character, shouted in an angry
tone for Warren, who could not help raising his head
156
KOT DOWN IV THE RILL.
from out the colHii in which ho was lying, and an-
swering, " Here, sir." " Come, then," continued
Powell, not knowing where the voice came from, " or
I'll break every bone in your body!" Warren, know-
i;mma rin iismy.
ing that his master was quite capable of carrying
the threat, sprang in his fi-ight out of the coflin
ran in his winding-sheet across the stage.
The dying heroes and heroines of the j)rescnt
out
and
day
NOT DOWN IN THE BILL. 157
wait to regain animation nntil the curtain has fallen,
when they reappear in their own private characters at
the foot-lij^hts. A distino-nishecl tenor, Sij^nor Gius:-
liiii, being much applauded one night for his singing in
the " Miserere " scene of " II Trovatore," qnitted the
dungeons in which Manrico is supposed to be confined,
came forward to the public, bowed, and then, not to
cheat the executioner, went quietly back to prison
again. A much more modern story of the confusion
of facts with appearances is told, and with trnth, of a
distinguished military amateur, who had undertaken,
for one occasion only, to play the part of Don Gio-
vanni. In the scene in which the profligate hero is
seized and carried down to the infernal regions, the
principal character conld neither persuade nor compel
the demons, who were represented by private soldiers,
to lay hands on one whom, whatever part he might
temporarily assume, they knew avcU to be a colonel in
the army. The demons kept at a respectful distance,
and, when ordered in a loud whisper to lay hands on
their dramatic victim, contented themselves with fall-
ing into an attitude of attention.
Jules Janin, in the collection of his feuilletons pub-
lished under the title of " Histoire de la Litteraturo
Dramatique," tells how in the ultra-tragic tragedy of
" Tragadalbas," an actor, in the midst of a solemn
tirade, let a set of false teeth fall from his mouth.
This was nothinsr more or less than an accident which
might happen to any one. Lord Brougham is said to
have suffered the same misfortune while speaking in
the House of Lords. But the g-reat tragedian showed
great presence of mind, and also a certain indifference
to the serious nature of the work in which he was en-
gaged, when he coolly stooped down, picked up the
158
NOT DOWN l>f TFIK Rir,L.
teeth, rei)l:KvM] tluMii l)ct\vcen hi.s jaws, ami continued
his spcocli.
.,«f
7/:.^
^h
■NvxMj^f
t
>/ «=
T.. -'^'
%miir
•m'
n^
m
i
y*iiir^^=^
j.iLi-iAN i:l.s.-i:ll.
At some French provincial theatre, where a piece
was being played in which the principal character was
NOT DOWN IN THE BILL.
159
that of a blind man, the actor to whom this part had
been assigned was unwell, and it seemed necessary to
call upon another member of the company to read the
part. Thus the strange spectacle was witnessed of a
JOE JEFFERSON.
man supposed to be totally blind, who read every word
he uttered from a paper he carried in his hand.
At an English performance of "William Tell," the
traditional arrow, instead of going straight from TelVs
bow to the heart — perforated beforehand — of the
160
NOT DOWN 1\ THE BILL.
apple placed on the head of TeJVs son, stopped half
way on the wire over which it should have travelled
to its destination. Everythinir, however, succeeded m
KOLANU ICKED.
Kossini's "William Tell," except the apple incident,
as everything failed in "Dennis's Appius, except that
thunder which Dennis recognized and claimed as his
own when he heard it a few nights afterward iu " Mac-
LIZZIE WEBSTER
NOT DOWN IN THE BILL.
161
beth." Yet it has never been very diiEcult to repre-
sent thunder on the stage. One of the oldest theatrical
LAWRENCE BARRETT.
anecdotes is that of the actor, who, playing the part
of a bear, hears a clap of stage-thunder, and mistaking
it for the real thinof, makes the sisn of the cross.
11
C HATTER XI.
THE ILLUSIONS OF THE STAGE.
A person can gain :in idea of the extent of stage
decorations and the possibility of scenic ilhisions in the
old English theatre hy reading a description of the
theatre as it existed in its poverty of costume and
bareness of paint in the Elizal)ethan era. Rousseau
has left a description of the Paris Opera House as he
saw it and it will i)e found interesting to all who are
acquainted with the methods and tiie absolute magni-
tude of the theatre of the present day. It must be
remembered, however, when considering the smallness
of the staire described by Rousseau, that it was blocked
up on both sides, as was the early English stage, by
the aristocratic section of the audience, who sat in rows
by the side of the singers while the plebeian music
lovers stood up in the pit. It was in exactly the same
condition as the English stage, when actors and ac-
tresses were interrupted and even insulted by their
lordly patrons ; — as when Mrs. Bollamy one evening
as she passed across the stage at Dublin was kissed
upon the neck by a Mr. St. Legcr, whose ears the
actress l)oxed there and then ; Lord Chesterfield rose
in his box on this occasion and applauded ; the entire
audience followed his example and at the end of the
performance St. Leger was obliged by the viceroy to
make a iiublic apology to the actress.
" Imagine," writes Rousseau about the Paris Opera,
•* an inclosurc fifteen feet broad, and long in propor-
(ir,2)
THE ILLUSIONS OF THE STAGE. 163
tion ; this inclosure is the theatre. On its two sides
arc placed at intervals screens, on which are curiously
painted the objects which the scene is about to repre-
sent. At the back of the inclosure hangs a great cur-
tain, painted in like manner, and nearly always pierced
and torn, that it may represent at a little distance
gulfs on the earth or holes in the sky. Every one
who passes behind this stage, or touches the curtain,
produces a sort of earthquake, which has a double ef-
fect. The sky is made of certain bluish rags, sus-
pended from poles, or from cords, as linen may be
seen hung out to dry in any washerwoman's yard.
The sun, for it is seen here sometimes, is a lighted
torch in a lantern. The cars of the gods and god-
desses are composed of four rafters, secured and hung
on a thick rope in the form of a swing or see-saw ; be-
tween the rafters is a coarse plank, on which the gods
sit down, and in front hangs a piece of coarse cloth,
well dirtied, which acts the part of clouds for the
magnificent car. One may see toward the bottom of
the machine two or three foul candles, badly snuffed,
which, while the greater personage dementedly presents
himself swinging in his see-saw, fumigate him with
incense worthy of his dignity. The agitated sea is
composed of long angular lanterns of cloth and blue
pastel^oard, strung on parallel spits, which are turned
by little blackguard boys. The thunder is a heavy
cart, rolled over an arch, and is not the least agree-
able instrument heard at our opera. The flashes of
lightning are made of jjinches of resin thrown on a
flame, and the thunder is a cracker at the end of a
fuse. The theatre is, moreover, furnished with little
square traps, which opening at the end, announce
that the demons are about to issue from their cave.
When they have to rise into the air, little demons of
164
THE ILLUSIONS OF THE STAGE.
stuircd brown cloth are substituted for them, or some-
times real chimiie^'-swecps, who swing about sus-
pended on ropes, till they are majestically lost in the
rags of which I have spoken."
This sad condition of theatrical illusions cannot bo
J. K. EMMETT.
rccfarded otherwise than strange when it is recorded
that decorations were of a higher order in the reign
of Louis XIV. Saint-Evremond is authority for the
statement tiial the sun and moon wo''f> so well repre-
THfi ILLUSIONS OF THE STAGE. 165
sented at the French opera during this period that the
ambassador of Guinea, who assisted at one of the
performances, was decoyed into leaning forward in
his box and religiously saluting the orbs. Had Rous-
seau lived to the present day, the wonders and mys-
teries of our stage would have made his great heart
leap within him. Modern art and modern mechanism
have brought stage representations so close to nature
that the scenes seem to be small sections, either of
country or city, mountain or vale, lifted from the face
of the world and placed in all their beauty at the
stajje-end of the theatre. Mana^-ers do not fear to "o
to any length in mounting plays properly, and there
is nothing in the outer world that defies reproduction
in the mimic sphere. Steam is freely used ; fire
rages fiercely through folds of inflammable canvas ;
the li2;htnino:s flash ; Hendrick Hudson and his men
roll nine-pins in the Catskills, and the low rumble
of the thunder, as the balls rattle down from eras: to
crag, is distinctly heard by the audience ; poor, de-
mented old Lear cries to the winds to crack and blow
their cheeks, and they do so to his full satisfaction ;
there is genuine rain in the shipwreck scene of " The
Hearts of Oak ; " a plentiful fall of the beautiful snow
for " The Two Orphans ; " a perfect reproduction of a
mountain rivulet for " The Danites ; " steamboat and
railroad explosions of a realistic character in every-
thins; : an almost horizonless sea for the srreat raft
scene in " The World ; " and gorgeous coloring, rich
furniture, choice bric-a-brac, rare paintings and the
Lord only knows what, for the thousand and one
melodramatic and society plays that are now flooding
the stage. Then there are gems apparantly rich
enough to have come from the treasuries of Khedive
or Sultan, and lobes so redolent of royalty in color
ir,6
THE ILLUSIONS OF THE STAGE.
and nuiteiiul tluit the Iciimlo portion ot" the iiutlicnce
is almost driven to distraction in adiniriiis: and gov-
cting them. Little docs the average lady patron of
the theatre imagine that the finery she covets is often
the product of the artiste's own needle, and that the
JOHN T. RAYMOND.
gaiety and glory of an actress's career — with hundreds
of admirers pouring diamonds into her lap, and hun-
dreds of others feasting upon her charms, while many
hang with reverence upon the words that fall from her
THE ILLUSIONS OF THE STAGE. 1G7
lips — is but the merest of dreams; and that the
sister whose professional successes cause her to look
upon the stage as a place of pleasure only, may live
in a tenement surrounded by a poor family to whose
support her life-efforts are devoted ; that she has few
admirers ; that she is pure as the fairest and purest
woman in private life, and that her only sacrifice is
made to the art which she loves and to which she has
consecrated herself.
There are but fcAV who have not an exao:2i:erated idea
of the value of everything they see upon the stage.
It is true that many actresses are rich enough to wear
diamond necklaces, and to otherwise sprinkle their
persons with brilliants of the first water ; but it is
equally true that many others are jDoor, and that the
gems they wear come from the cheap stock of articles
ke-pt in the theatrical property-room. An amusing
story is told by Olive Logan, who was an actress,
about the false value placed upon stage jewels.
*' While I was fulfilling a round of theatrical engasfe-
ments in the South, during the war," says Miss
Logan, " I w^as compelled by 'military necessity,' to
pack up my jewels and send them to Cincinnati. Of
course there were a number of stao-e trinkets in the
bag as well as some little jewelry of real value, but as
it happened a fabulous idea had got afloat of the value
of my little trinkets, and I was offered large sums for
the carpet sack, 'just as it stood,' after I had packed
it to send it to Cincinnati.
" ' I'll give you ten thousand dollars for it without
opening,' said one gentleman ; ' I want those eaivrings
for my wnfe ? '
" 'No,' I answered, 'no; those things were given
me in France, and I shouldn't like to part with
them.'
108
THE ILLUSIONS OF T'lK STAGE.
" 'Are the ear-rings in here? ' "
" * Yes,' I imswerod.
" 'And the bracelet?' "
♦' 'Yes.' "
KATIIERINE UQCJEKS.
" ' Fifteen thousand — will you? ' "
" ' No, no,' I answered, and the matter ended. I
couldn't liclj) lauifiiinu;, for truly J niiirlit have made a
sharp bargain if I had wished. Somebody would have
THE ILLUSIONS OF THE STAGE. 169
been sold, and that somebody not myself. I returned
to Cincinnati after my trip to Nashville, and there
found my elfects awaiting me in good order. One day
in the Burnet House I was accosted by a pleasant-
lookinsTijentleman, who informed me that he had taken
charge of the bag from Louisville to Cincinnati.
" ' Did not Mr. send it by express? ' I asked.
" ' No. I was coming up, and he thought it best to
entrust it to me.'
" ' I'm very much obliged to you,' I said.
" 'Indeed, you have cause to be,' he said, good-
naturedly. ' I give you my word it's the last time I'll
have on my mind the charge of fifty thousand dollars'
worth of diamonds.' "
After an English lady of rank returned from the
continent, she found her trunl^ robbed of its jewels.
Detectives traced the jewels to a London pawnshop,
where they had been sold for $5. The thieves were
arrested, and when one of them was asked why he had
been so foolish as to sell nearly one hundred thousand
dollars' worth of diamonds for $5, he answered :
*' Why, yer honor, we never thought for a minute as
how they Avere real jewels ; we just thought the lady
was some play-actor woman, and that the whole lot
wasn't worth but a few shillino-s."
The trinkets are no more deceptive than are many
other means employed to astonish and gladden the
public. The production of thunder, the simulation of
rain-fall, the fictitious roaring of winds, and the mul-
tiplication of suns, moons and stars are among the
numerous illusions that give to the theatre that mar-
vellous charm under whose spell thousands are nightly
placed and held. In the olden times these effects were
produced in a simple and b}^ no means mystifying
manner, but late years have made them so perfect in
170
TIIK ILLUSIONS OF TlIK STACSK.
their appHc.it ion that none but the initiated can even
begin to think out the sohition of the wondrous effects
!■)'■■
..-h^.:vlri!|
JOSEPIIINK D OKMK.
in
as
Avliicli the Kt:ii:c now aboimtls. A new offoct, such
the enormous stretch of sea and s^ky to be fouud in
THE ILLUSIONS OF THE STAGE. 171
" The World," is something that dramatic authors and
stage mechanics are always seeking after and are ghid
to find. The revolving tower in " The Shau<2:hran "
was a puzzle to everybody. Now there are hundreds
of effects of this kind with foldinc; and vanishing; scenes
that are even more wonderful than Boucicault's. tower.
Viewed from the wings the simplicity of the means
employed to produce these effects makes them abso-
lutely laughable. They shall be explained in this
chapter.
Thunder-storms are common efforts at realism, and
they are sometimes simulated in a way that makes
them appear to fall very little short of nature. The
earliest style of stage thunder was effected by vigor-
ously shaking a piece of sheet iron which made a rat-
tling and ear-disturbing noise. Even now when a
show is " on the road" and a hall without the usual
first-class accessories must be used, the audience, and
the actor too, must be satisfied with sheet-iron thun-
der. The modern invention is known as the thunder-
drum, and it stands over the prompter's desk where
it can be easily reached by a long stick with a thick,
soft padding at the end — similar to the sticks used in
beating bass-drums. The thunder-drum consists of a
calf-skin tightly drawn over the top of a box frame.
With this instrument the low rumbling of distant thun-
der or the long roll of the elemental disturbance may
be attained, and, following the sharp rattling of the
shaken sheet of iron and the flash of ii^nited mao;ne-
sium an effect is produced that completely awes the
simple citizen who knows nothing of the mechanism of
the stage.
The prompter, too, who by the way is a most re-
sponsible person among the individuals who populate
the mimic world, has control of the rain machine.
172 THE ILLUSIONS OI* THE STAGE.
This is :i wooden cylinder, about two feet in diameter,
and four or five feet long. It is filled with dried peas
which rattle ai^ainst wooden teeth in its inside surface,
as the machine, which is in the " flies," is operated by
a belt running down to the prompter's desk. This
reminds me that I have used the expression "flies"
several times without explaining what is meant. The
"flics" IS a term used to desiijnate the scenerv and
spaces above the stage, and as there is a great deal of
it, it has as much importance in a theatrical sense as
any other part of the back of the house. Well, to
resume the explanation, the prom[)ter has the rain
machine in the "flies" fully under control and can
turn out any kind of a rain-storm the play may
require ; if a swirl of the aqueous downpour is needed, —
such a manifestation of wrathy lachrymoseness as you
find in a storm that at intervals beats mercilesslv
against your windows and the side of your house, —
one good, strong, sharp pull at the rope will effect it.
Less atrocious efforts of the elements may be obtained
with a slighter exertion of nmscle at the rope or belt.
The wind machine'is a very necessary adjunct of these
storm effects, and it is to be found in every large thea-
tre, furnishing " a nijjping and an eager air" or one
of those howling blasts that make night desolate and
day disastrous. The wind machine may bo moved to
any part of the stage. Sometimes it is behind the
door of a hut through which snow is fiercely driven,
and at other times it may be in the side scenes, or any
locality to which or through which the storm is rush-
ing. It is an awful funny thing to the man at the wind
machine to think of the cold chill he sends down the
back of the sensitive play-goer as the wind whistles
across the scene in which poor blind Louise, in the
"Two Orphans," figures, or that scene in "Ours"
THE ILLUSIONS OF THE STAGE. 173
where Lord Shendryn is at the mercy of the pitiless
storm. The wind that makes the warm blood frigid
FERDINAND AND MIRANDA.
Miranda: — If you'll sit down,
I'll bear your log's the while.
I'empest, Act, III., Scene 1.
under such circumstances is very easily constructed.
A cylinder from which extend paddles is set in a suit-
174 THE ILLUSIONS OF THE STAGE.
able frame and above its top is stretched a ])ieco of
grosgraiii silk. The silk is stationary, but the cylinder
and paddles are operated by means of a crank and
sometimes by a "crank." Swift motion produces
woeful gusts of the windy article, and a steady blast
may be dui)licated by patiently working the machine.
When the property-man is driven to the necessity of
providing rain and wind in theatrical districts that do
not boast of modern ap[)liances ho obtains a rain eflcct
by rolling bird-shot over brown paper that has been
pasted around a hoop, and tiic wind is raised by swing-
ing around a heavv piece of <ras-hose. This kind of
thinj? is called " fakiniz;" the wind or rain.
When real water is used on the staiijo to simulate
rain, as in the lirst act of the " Hearts of Oak," or
" Oaken Hearts," as they at one time tried to call a
pirated edition of it, the effect is obtained by carrying
water to the stage lofts, during the da}^ where it re-
mains in a tank connected with a long pierce of per-
forated pipe, back of the proscenium border, and
stretching across the stage. At night when the proper
time arrives the water is allowed to run into the pipe,
from wliicli it of course falls in numerous small streams
upon a rubber tarpaulin that lias been stretched below
to receive it. So too in mountain rivulets with " real
water, " as in " The Danites," a Uiwk in the loft must
be filled daily with water to supply the nightly scene.
In all instances of this sort the elfect is (piite realistic,
and never fails to meet with a liearty appreciation by
the audience.
The snow-storm is also usually a i)leasing stage pic-
ture, and is brought about in a most simi)lo manner.
White paper is cut into very small pieces, which are
carefully treasured by the jiroperty-man, whose duty
it is to sec to everything of this Uind in and around
THE ILLUSIONS OF THE STAGE,
175
the sta2:c, and who reo-ards the manufacture of a snow-
storm as a very slow and tedious piece of work. When
the snow is ready it is placed in what is called the
snow-box, a long narrow affair with slats on the bottom
LESTER \VALLACK.
leaving room enough for the pieces of paper to sift
through, when the box is given a swaying motion.
The contrivance is swung over the stage by means of
two ropes, and is operated by a third leading to one
side of the stage. When the chilled heroine comes
176 THE ILLUSIONS OF THE STAGE.
upon the scene amid a terrible fall of snow and draws
her thin garmcnts'tightly over her shoulder, while she
shivers, the snow-box up above is swinging to and fro,
and the white flakes are only bits of pai)cr frauds that
the property-man or an assistant will carefully sweep
up after the scene or act, to do duty again the follow-
injr niijht and for manv a nifrht to come.
The snow-storm and the other illusions described
above are only a fraction of the things the property
man has to look after and keep in order. He has
charge of everything upon the stage and is responsible
for everything except the scener}'. When a play is
running that requires handsome appointments, it is his
business to provide. "Within the ])ast decade or so of
years it has become the custom to borrow expensive
furniture from generous local dealers who are often
satisfied with the simple and easy remuneration of a
line or two acknowledging the loan, in the programme ;
or a certain price is paid for the use of the furniture
during the run of the play; or the set is purchased
outriirht from the dealer and repurchased bv him at a
reduction when tlic theatre is done with it. Nearly
all theatres, however, are supplied with suital)ly hand-
some furniture for an oixlinary society play, and it is only
when ixorireousnessis aimed at that manaircrsare obliired
to borrow. Pistols, knives, helmets, lances, battle-
axes, canes, cigars, money, i)()cket-books, the vial from
which Juliet takes the fatal draught, the marble or
majolica j^edestals, the rich vases, sunflowers such as
are used in the lesthetic play of " The Colonel," the
paste-board ham, the tin cups, or cut glasses that the
characters drink from, fire-place, mantel, and looking-
glass — these, and many other articles the property-
raan furnishers the players, either placing the station-
ary fixtures on the stage, or sending the call-boy to
THE ILLUSIONS OF THE STAGE.
177
the performers with the articles they require. The
check-book that the rich banker draws from his pocket
when he hands $100,000, more or less, over to some-
body else in the play, the quill or pen he writes the
#
CLARA MORRIS.
check with, and the bottle out of which he dips the
imaginary ink, all come from the property-room, and
go back to it again after the act is over. A list of the
articles required for a play is furnished the property-
178
THE ILLUSIONS OF TIIK STAGE.
man when a play is to he put on, and those articles ho
must have when the prompter calls or sends for them.
Somotimcs the property-man forgets, and then there
is trouble in the camp. It is related that having for-
HELEN DINOEON.
gotten to provide a Jidiet ^vith her vial of poison, in
time, the article being culled for as the actress was
about to go on the stage, the j)roi)erty-inan snatched
up the first thing that looked like !i vial that ho got his
vyo.<, on. Tt was ;i l)ottle from the pi'onipter's dt'«k,
THE ILLUSIONS OF THE STAGE. 179
and when Juliet placed the awful draught to her lips
and took a pull at the bottle, she discovered to her
horror that she had swallowed a dose of ink. The ac-
tress, who tells the story herself in her autobiography,
said, she wanted to "swallow a sheet of blotting-
paper," when she made the inky discovery.
I find in Miss Los-an's book from which I have before
quoted in this chapter, the following funny inventory of
properties furnished a new lessee of the Drury Lane
Theatre, London: "Spirits of wine, for flames and
apparitions, £12 2s. ; three and one-half bottles of
lightning, £ — ; one snow-storm, of finest French paper,
3s. ; two snow-storms of common French paper, 2s. ;
complete sea, with twelve long waves, slightly dam-
aged, £1 10s. ; eighteen clouds,' with black edges, in
good order, 12s., Gd. ; rainbow, slightly faded, 25. ;
an assortment of French clouds, flashes "of li^htnino;
and thunder-bolts, 15s. ; a new moon, slightly tar-
nished, 15s. ; imperial mantle, made for Cyrus, and
subsequently worn by Julius Ctesar and Henry VIII.,
10s. ; Othello's handkerchief, 6tZ. ; six arm-chairs
and six flower-plots, v/hich dance country dances, £2."
The same author adds another quotation that gives a
better idea of the quantity and character of the pro-
perty-man's possessions, saying: —
" He has charge of all the movables and has to exer-
cise the greatest ingenuity in getting them up. His
in-ovince is to preserve the canvas water from o-ettino-
wet, keep the sun's disk clear and the moon from
getting torn; he manufactures thunder on sheet iron,
or from parchment stretched drum-like on a frame ; he
prepares boxes of dried peas for rain and wind, and
huge watchman's rattles for the crash of fallino- tow-
ers. He has under his charge demijohns for the fall
of concealed china in cupboards ; speaking trum-
180 THE ILLUSIONS OF THE STAGE.
pets to imitate the growl of ferocious wild beasts ; penny
whij^tles for the ' cricket on the hearth ;' powdered
rosin for liij^htning flashes, where gas is not used ; rose
pink, for the l)lood of patriots ; money, cut out of tin ;
fincl}'^ cut bits of paper for fatal snow-storms ; ten-pin
balls, for the distant mutterings of a storm; bags of
gold containing bits of broken glass and pebbles, to
imitate the musical ring of coin ; balls of cotton wad-
ding for apple dumj)lings ; links of sausages, made of
painted flannel ; snm[)tuous boquets of papier mache ;
block-tin rings with painted beads puttied in for royal
signets ; crowns of Dnt(^h gilding lined with red ferret ;
broomstick handles cut u[) for truncheons for command ;
brooms themselves for witches to ride ; branches of
cedar for Birnam wood ; dredijini; l)oxes of flour for
the fate-desponding lovers ; vermilion to tip the noses
of jolly landlords ; pieces of rattan silvered over for
fairy wands ; leaden watches, for gold repeaters ; dog-
chains for the necks of knighthood, and tin spurs for
its heels ; armor made of leather, and shields of wood ;
fans for ladies to cofjuet behind ; quizzing-glasses, for
exquisites to ogle with; legs of mutton, hams, loaves
of bread and pluni-puildings, all cut from canvas, and
stuffed with sawdust; together with all the pride,
pomp, and circumstance of a dramatic display. Such
is the pro[)erty-nian of a theatre. Ho bears his honors
meekly ; lie mixes molasses and water for wine and
darkens it a little shade for brandy ; is always busy
behind the scenes, but is seldom seen, unless it is to
clear the stage, and then what a shower of yells and
hisses does he receive from the galleries I The
thoughtless gods cry ' Supe I Supe ! ' which if intended
for an abV)reviation of superior or superfine, may bo
opposite, but in no other view of the case. What
would a theatre be without a property-mau ? A world
THE ILLUSIONS OF THE STAGE.
181
without a sun * * * Kings would be trunch-
eonless and crownless ; brigands without spoils ; old
men without canes and powder ; Harlequin without
his hat ; Macduti* without his leafy screen ; theatres
SCOTT-SIDDONS.
would close — there would be no tragedy, no comedy,
no farce without him. Jove in his chair was never
more potent than he. An actor might, and often does
get along without the words of his part, but not with-
182 THE ILLUSIONS OF THE STAGE.
out the pro[)orties. What strange quandaries have we
seen the Garricks and Siddonses of our stajje cret into
when the i)ropertj-nian hipsed in his duty ! We liave
seen Ronico distracted because the bottle of poison was
not to be found; Virginius tear liis hair because tiio
butcher's knife was not ready on the shaml)les ; Baillie
Nicol Jarv'e n(>nplussed l)ecause there was no red-iiot
poker to singe the Tartan fladdic with ; Macbeth
frowning because the Eightli Apparition did not bear a
glass to show him any more ; William Tell in agony
because there was no small ai)ple for Gcsler to i)ick ;
the First Murderer in distress because there was no
blood for his fiice ready ; Ilecato fuming like a hell-
cat because her car did not mount easil}' ; Richard the
Third grinding his teeth because the clink of iiammers
closing rivets up was forgotten ; Hamlet l)rought up
all standing because there was no i2;obk't to drink the
poison from, and Othello stabbing lago with a candle-
stick because he had no other sword of S[)aiii, tiie
Ebro's tem[)c'r, to do the deed with. So, the property-
man is no insignificant personage — he is the main-
spring which sets all tlie work in motion ; and an actor
had better have a bad epitaph when dead than his ill
will while living."
CHAPTER XII.
MORE OF THE MYSTERIES.
A few companies have done away entirely with the
canvas-outlined turkey and the sawdust-stuifed dump-
ling, and have meals that figure in the play served on
the stage piping hot from some neighboring restau-
rant. There is genuine wine too, and often it is cham-
pagne of such quality that its sparkle makes the eyes
of the tipplers in the audience dance, and their mouths
run water. In this and many other ways the desire to
get as near to the real thing as possible in art has
caused encroachments on the property-man's terri-
tory, and gradually his treasures are decreasing. Still
his occupation is not as gone as Othello's, Travelling
combinations have their own property-man, and the
theatres each carry one. Besides the magnificent
work of producing snow-storms from pajjer, etc., there
are minor details of his business that he brino-s as
much art to as the average actor and actress take to
the stage. He builds a warrior's helmet from simple
brown maniUa paper and makes a pair of bronze urns
in the same cheap way, although they may appear to
be worth $300. Bronze figures, too, are obtained
from the same material ; also flower-pots, mantel-
pieces, and such things. He goes about the work like
an artist. He first makes a model in clay of the arti-
cle— say it is an urn. This done he builds a wooden
box around it, and mixing plaster of paris and water
pours the mixture between the box and model where
(183)
184
M()R15 or TlIK MVsTEniR.^i.
it is allowed to harden. After the day mould has been
withdrawn the plaster of paris mould is greased, and
five successive coats of small pieces of thick brown
paper that have been soaked in water are carefully laid
JOHN PAKSELLE.
on. A laver of Tuiisliu and "rluo follows, and three
more coats of the brown ])apcr. ^Vh(Ml the applica-
tion lias tlioronghly di'iccl, tlic; last three layers of
brown j)apcr are removed, and the nni which has been
• MORE oi' tKe mysteries. 185
four days in process of completion is ready for use.
Goblets for royal or knightly banquets are manufac-
tured by the property-man in the same manner. Often
has a golden goblet, ewer, amphora, or salver fallen
to the floor from the hands of awkward Ganymedes
and Hebes without creating any consternation among
the gathered gallants, or making a sound loud enough
to ripple above the lightest notes of the orchestra.
These properties are light, but very durable, and well
withstand the harsh and careless treatment they fre-
quently receive. Often the entire " banquet set " is
made of paper, the skilled w^ork of the worthy prop-
erty-man, who holds probably the most independent
place in the theatre, being obliged to carry no article
to anybody — not even a foreign star — but leaves that
menial work to the stage manager, prompter, or call-
boy.
Moonlight is one of the most poetical and beautiful
of stage efiects. The first work in producing it is
done by the scenic artist, who places a moonlight pic-
ture on his canvas. The calcium liojht filtered throuo;h
a ofreen glass fills the foreo-round with its mellow influ-
ence. At the back of the stas^e a row of aro;and
burners with light green shades, gives the faint and soft
touches that fill in the distance. A "ground piece"
or strip of scenery runs along the floor at the back of
the stage, and just under the main scene hides the
** green mediums," as the shaded burners are called,
from the eyes of the audience. Sometimes the row is
above the stage, and protected from sight by the
*' sky-borders." Silver ripples on the surface of
water, and twinkling stars in the sky are frequently
made features of moonlight scenery. The twinkling
stars are bright spangles hung by pin-hooks to the
scenes, and the ripples are only slits in the water can-
180 MORE OF THE MYSTERIES.
vas, bt'liiiul which an endless towel with slits cut in its
surface and a stron<x jxasliuht between the rollers and
the sides of the towel, is made to revolve. Every
time the slits in the towel came opposite the slits in
the canvas the light shines through and the silver
dance upon the lake or river. When the slits in the
towel arc made to move upward the ripples seem to
lift their silvery tops towards the bending sky. Moon-
rise, which is always an agreeable illusion, even to
those who know how it is done, is ellccted by lifting
the " moon-box," as it is carried slowly up behind a
muslin canvas, upon which heavy paper is fastened to
represent clouds. Tiie "moon-box" is an ordinary
cubial affair with a round liole at one end, over Avhich
a strip of muslin is fastened, and l)ehind which is a
strouij illumination. Two wires from above are man-
ipulatcd causing the moon to move through its orbit.
When its j^ath lies behind one of the paper clouds the
fraudulent Cynthia, just like the genuine queon of the
heavens, fails to shine, but as soon as she emerges from
the dark spot and the outer ruin of the illnminated cir-
cular surface of the " moon-box " touches the white
muslin once again, she is the fair queen of night and
the young lovers in the audience feel as happy as if
they were at home swinging on the front gate, while
pa is at the club and ma is entertaining an amiable
cousin in the second jjarhu-. The flushed countenance
of the moon, as she is just rising frowi "^rhctis's arms,
as you see her every night when she is taking her first
dainty steps up the eastern sky, is obtained by having
the lower edge of the muslin painted red and grad-
ually 1)lending with the whites while floating clouds are
oidy the result of hanging or sewing on the gauze drop
in front of the muslin screen, pieces of muslin or canvas
cut into the proper shapes. The change from day to
MORK OF TIIK MYSTERIES.
187
night, or vice versa, effects that surpass the other in
real beauty, and also in attractiveness for the public,
is produced by having a drop twice the usual length,
painted one half in a sunset and the other half in moon-
'>;
SOL SMITH RUSSELL.
light. If the change from day to night, which is the
more effective, is desired, the sunset sky occupies the
upper half of the drop — that is nothing but the sunset
sky is presented to the eyes of the audience. The dis-
188 MORE OF THR MYSTERIES.
t<aiK'C sccnciy is painted upon a separate piece and the
outlines of the objects are sharply cut out so that the
sunset sky can be seen above the irregular outline of
the horizon. A gauze drop hangs in front to give the
picture the required hazy effect, and red lights give a
sunset gl()\^o the entire scene. Rolling up the back
drop the change is made slowly and carefully until the
moon is discovered in the night half of the sky and
goes \ip Avith it, while the usual moonlight mediums
arc brought into requisition to increase the brightness
of the view.
There are two ways of producing ocean waves.
Sometimes a piece of blue cloth with dashes of white
paint for wave-crests covers the entire stage, when the
necessary motion of the waters is obtained by having
men or boys stationed in the entrances to sway the sea.
Again, each billow may bo made to show separate
with the alternate rows of billows rearinij their white
crests between the tips of the row on each side.
These billows are rocked backward and forward — to
and from the audience — while the ocean's roar comes
from a wooden box lined with tin and containinsr a
small quantity of bird shot. The desired sound is
produced by rolling the box around.
Anybody who has witnessed Milton Noble's ♦' Phoe-
nix " properly placed on the stage, or "The Streets
of New York," must have been, the first time, both
terrified, and still somewhat delighted, with the fire
pcenes. Of late years tiicy have been made wonder-
fully thrilling, and almost perfect fac-similes of the
Fire Fiend himself. The scene-painter gets up his
bouse in three pieces. The roof is swung from the
"flies"; the fi'ont wall is in two pieces, a jagged
line running from near the top of one side of the scene
to the lower end of the other side. If shutters are to
MORE OF THE MYSTERIES.
189
fall, as in " The Streets of New York," they are fas-
tened to the scene with "quick match," a preparation
of powder, alcohol, and lamp wick. Iron window and
door frames are covered with oakum soaked in alcohol
ROSK COGHLAN.
or other fire-quickening fluid. Steam is made to
represent smoke, and the steam itself is obtained by
dissolving lime in water. A platform from the side
aff'ords a footing to the firemen who are fisfhtino: the
flames in the very midst of the burnhig buildina;, and
190 MOKE OF THE MYSTERIES.
an endless towel with painted flames keeps moving
across the picture after the first wall and roof have
been allowed to fall in, while red tire plays upon the
whole picture and " flash torches " are made to repre-
sent leaping tongues of flame. There appears to be a
great deal of danger from the operation of a scene of
this kind, but if proper care is taken the danger is as
worthy of consideration as that attending the presenta-
tion of a parlor scene.
"The World" has been pronounced a novelty in
scenic efl*ects. I went l)chind the scenes to see how
the thing worked, and had the i)k'asure of finding out
all about it. The play is in seven set scenes. The first
had nothing unusual in it except that the ship with full
steam on and the dock was produced very artistically.
The ship and the buildings were in. profile with a good
stretch of sky beyond, that was all. Next came the.
explosion scene, when the vessel was, by the sui)posed
use of dynamite, sent flying in splinters in mid-ocean,
and all save four souls went down to the briny depths.
The mere ship setting, with its boilers, iis hatches, its
galleries, spars and guys, was woi-thy of admiration.
While the pcrfoi'iniM-s were hading up to the i)oint
where the awfni and fateful moment comes, a man sat
quietly behind the scenes rea<ly to fire an anvil of
guns, each charged to the muzzle ; men stood at the
numerous openings in the rear, and men with chem-
ical red-lire occupied the side-scenes, while others with
powdered lycopodiiim were under the stage beneath a
half-dozen grated openings. At the left, in the wings,
stood an array of *' supers," to rush on and increase
the connnotion when the shock came. When the
heavy villain announced that there was a dynamite
machine on board, and the captain gave orders to his
men to ovcrhairt evervthing below and try to find it —
MORE OF THE MYSTERIES. 191
then the thunder came. Bang went the young can-
nons in the rear. The stage shook, and the theatre
seemed ready to fall about our ears ; the females
shrieked ; the " supers " rushed on and shouted ; then
came the leaping flames from below and from the
sides, until, finally, the whole picture was one burning
srlow and whirl of smoke, and the curtain came down
in time, I suppose, to prevent a panic, for women
shrieked, and men got up from their seats to flee from
the theatre. Act three brought the grandest illusion
of all — the great raft scene. This picture shows a
raft tossing on a rolling ocean with a vast stretch of
sea on all sides, the sky and waters apparently meeting
as far away as if they were realities and not mere at-
tempts at nature. This scene always struck me with
awe until I saw it from the stage. The second act
at an end, the stage mana2:er has the stao:e cleared in
a short time ; then the carpenter and his assistants go
to work. A " ground piece " of sea is placed across
the stao;e at the first entrance. All the side scenes are
removed and a huoh curtain of lio;ht blue is huno- in a
semi-circle from one side of the stage, up around to
the rear and then down to the other side. A couple of
men now come down to the centre of the stage bearing
something that looks like an old barn-door with four
swinging legs, one at each corner. A pivot is fastened on
the stage ; the barn door is balanced on it and down
through four small openings in the stage go the four
arms or legs, at points corresponding with the four
corners of the door. I can see now that the upper
side of the door bears a slio:ht resemblance to a rude
raft, the timber being artistically painted upon its sur-
face. Somebody sticks a pole in the side up the stage.
A box is placed at one end for the villain who is among
the saved ; a cushion is furnished at the other end for
102
MORE OF THK MYSTERIES.
the young lady who phiys Iho lad, Ned; Old Otven,
the miner, lies along the lower side and Sir Clement
Ihmdnrjford, the hero, takes his stand at the mast,
pale and haggard with hunger and anxiety. The sea
THE RAFT KCENE.
cloth, covering the stage except for a rectangular
aperture that goes around the raft and has its edges
fastened to the raft, is spread ; hoys crawl under tho
MORE OF THE MYSTERIES. 193
sea and lie upon their backs ; men stand in the
side scenes holding the ragged edges of the already
white-crested sea. Everything is ready now, and amid
the right kind of music the curtain goes up on the
magnificent raft scene. Four men under the stage
have hold of the four pieces hanging from the corners
of the raft, and by pulling in exact line give it the
motion of the heaving sea ; the men in the side scenes
agitate the blue cloth and the boys beneath it toss and
roll the cloth with hands and feet. Old Owen dies
before Sir Clement sights a ship no bigger than a star
away off in the horizon. He ties a rag to the mast for
a signal ; but the ship keeps moving past, until at last,
to the despair of all on board the raft, it is about to
dip below the horizon. But it suddenly tacks ; there
is a tiny rocket seen curving in the air ; the ship has
noticed the signal of distress and down comes the cur-
tain upon the happy trio left alive on board their storm-
tossed and frail raft. Passing over two acts that are
only eventful the sixth comes, which represents the
yard of a lunatic asylum, with two great walls on
either side of an iron gate that is set well up the stage,
and through which a stretch of the Eiver Thames and
the overhanging sky are seen. Sir Clement, who is
the rightful heir to certain property, has been confined
here through the machinations of his brother, who is in
possession, and of another scoundrel. Here, though,
the hero makes his escape by knocking the officers right
and left and bounding through the gate ; in a moment
the walls part and a house with cornices and wide pro-
jections folds together like a stuffed valentine that has
been sat upon. One of the walls moves off the stage
to the left, the other to the ris^ht, each movinsr in an
arc of a circle, and the whole disappearing from the
stage, while Sir Clement is discovered paddling safely
194 MORE OF THE MYSTERIES.
down tho Thames from his pursuers. The walls are
moved from tho stage through tho agency of men
stationed inside. Rollers are provided for tho scenic
structures, and there are two men inside of each piece,
tho one in advance having a lookout hole and acting as
guide. The only thing attractive in the last act is an
elevator in the Palace Hotel. This is a simple me-
chanical eftect, however, and needs no explanation. I
should have said in describing the sea that the horizon
rises gradually from the stage to a height of about
three feet at the back, and the sail that is sighted is a
tiny ship mounted on a frame work on rollers and
pulled across tho stage by a small cord. This raft
scene is all that has been claimed for it, and the illu-
sion has not its equal on the stage. The revolving
tower in " The Shaughraun," and the vanishing scene
in " Youth," are both worked in the same manner as
the lunatic asylum walls in ♦' The World."
CHAPTER XIII.
THE ARMY OF ATTACHiSS.
I have already written about the property-man, his
many duties, and the great responsibility that rests
upon him. I have also written about the prompter,
and the vast amount of work he is required to do. But
there remain behind the scenes and in the body of the
house, other persons who go to make up the grand
army of theatrical attaches, and whose place in the
amusement world is one of some importance, as they
are the adjuncts without which the drama would be
left naked of its present beauty and splendor and the
circumstances under which it would be patronized
would be full of inconvenience and discomfort. The
door-keepers of theatres are often interesting charac-
ters. Sometimes they have been selected outside the
ranks of the profession, when, of course, they have
little more to tell you about than the habits and pecu-
liarities of the theatre-going public ; but many of them
are broken-down actors, — actors who have been
"crushed," and in whose better days vistas of
unlimited hope opened before their dazzled vision.
These are full of reminiscences of the old-time saints
of the sock and buskin. If one could believe all they
have to say, these victims of circumstances could be
looked upon as individuals whose destiny it had
originally been to knock their shiny stove-pipe hats
against the stars of heaven, but, by some strange fatal-
ity, had their backs broken and their majestic tread
(195)
lOG THE AUMY OF ATTACHES.
lamed, so that now they can only shuffle into a frce-
hnK-li saloon and bend their necks over the counter as
they lovingly embrace a schooner of beer. There is
always room at the bottom for the unfortunates of the
profession, and they find such provision usually made
for them, as taking tickets at Uie door, or working
outside among the newspaper boys in the capacity of
agent. The treasurer of a theatre and the ticket seller,
who, in the broad sense of the word, may be looked
U})on as attaches, are people that all patrons of thea-
tres arc familiar with. They, with the door-keeper,
must in the blandest manner at their command resist
the advances of the very numerous dead-heads. A
courteous refusal is always deemed the best, but fre-
quently the harshest treatment must be resorted to to
get rid of this theatrical nuisance, of whom I shall take
occasion to speak later on, as well as of the free-pass
system. The treasurer of a theatre is always on terms
of intimacy with the professionals who frequent his
house, and is usually a jolly-featured, good-natured
man who knows how to entertain his friends, to retain
the good o[)ini()n of his manager, while filling up the
ticket-box with ptisses, and who understands and ap-
preciates the full value of the saying that a soft answer
turneth aside wrath. His salary ranges from $25 to
$50 a week, while a good ticket-seller, who frecjucntly
is made to do all llic hard work, may be iiad for $12
or $15. A door-k('e})('r is i)aid iVoin $10 to $15 a
"Week.
The great American type of youthliil citizen, with all
the manners and dignity of old age and the advisory
qualities of a Nestor, is the theatrical usher — the
young chap who takes your reserved seat ticket with a
smile full of malignity and succeeds in getting you
into the wrong chair and almost into a prize fight with
THE ARMY OF ATTACHES.
197
every man who comes into the same row of seats. He
does this gracionsly and with such an exhibition of
carefulness in comparing the number on your coupon
with the number of the chair, that you actually feel
ashamed of yourself to have made a mistake after what
MINNIE HAUK.
appeared to you to be an honest, vigorous, and suc-
cessful effort to show you what was right. The ushers
in Western cities are mere boys in uniform ; in the
East they are 3'oung men, and at Haverly's, Wal-
198 THE ARMY OF ATTACHES.
lack's, ami other first-class New York establishments,
you will find them in full evening dress with as large
an exhibition of shirt front as the swellcst of the
society noodles who are among the patrons of the
house. The usher gets $G or $8 a week, but
impresses the stranger as if he owned an interest in the
theatre. lie may sell calico or run a lemonade stand
during the day, but at night he is master of all he sur-
veys, talks of the actresses as familiarly as if he M-^ere
a blood relation, tries to make you ])elieve he has *' a
solid girl " in the ballet, and will offer you any favor,
from an introduction to the star to a dozen matinee-
passes or a game of seven-up with the manager. Like
the claquers, he is a regular nuisance. After the first
act he will sit or stand and give his opinion of the play,
commenting upon the performers in such brief, half
ejaculatory, half interrogatory way, as, " Ain't she a
daisy, though?" or, "Ain't he a dandy, you bet?"
He is expected to applaud even the vilest and least
deserving things, and when tlie cue is given, works his
hands and feet as vigorously as I have often seen
Henry Maplcson in ai)i)lauding Marie Roze, his wife,
or a travelling manager in commending the efforts of
his favorite among the females of his company.
Down in front, right under the glow of the foot-
lights, the bald head of the leader of the orchestra
shinofi. Often he is interesting, ])ut sometimes, es-
pecially among the leaders for combinations on the
road, he has a life history that compels now tears and
now again laughter. Wiicn ho is on the road he may
have a wife or daughter in the comi)any, and if he lias
neither he is bound to look lovingly upon some of the
fair talent whose toes twinkle, or voices ripple in song to
the tunc of his waving baton, and he will smile out
through his gold-rimmed spectacles upon his favorite
THE ARMY OF ATTACHES. 199
even while she is courting the favor of the audience, or,
perhaps, while she is trying to mash some beefy blonde
in the front rows of the parquette. Jealousy often takes
possession of the breast of the orchestra leader. It
may be that he will find out that the wife he has done
everything for to make famous has j^ounger and hand-
somer lovers, from whose glowing presence she comes
to her musical lord cold as a Christmas morning with
eighteen inches of ice on pond and river ; or it may be
that the favorite of the foot-li2:hts whom he adores has
found another favorite in the audience ; then there is
war, and sometimes the orchestra is left without its
leader and a story of unrequited love is told in a cor-
oner's inquest held upon a body found floating in a
pool, or hanging from a. transom in the room of some
hotel. To leave- the pathetic and get down to solid
facts it may be stated that the leader of an orchestra
is paid from $75 to $100 a week, and has from a dozen
to sixteen musicians whose salaries range from $18 to
$30 a week.
Again returning to the bosom of the stage — to the
sacred precincts beyond the foot-lights — we encounter
the stage manager. Every travelling company has its
own employee who directs and runs the stage business,
and notwithstanding the abolition of stock companies,
several theatres retain stage managers of their own
who work in conjunction with the company's, looking
after the setting of scenery, bossing the stage hands,
etc. The stage manager may be an actor, or he may
not, but he must be a man of theatrical training, and
thoroughly conversant with all the requirements of the
stage. In travelling combinations he usually plays a
minor part, and, although he may not be able to act as
well as his brethren of the play, he must possess the
requisite artistic knowledge to point out and dictate
200 THE ARMY OF ATTACHES.
what all shall do. Ho supervises rehearsals ; casts
plays, — that is, assigns to each performer his character ;
and he looks after the mounting of plays and the cos-
tuming, giving the scenic artist the period to which the
play belongs, and imparting the same information to
the costumers so that there may be no anachronism in
the representation on the stage.
The scenic artist, who is often known to the people
only by his work, has some extraordinary duties to
perform. When a combination or company has a date
at a theatre a week or so beforehand, they send on
small models of the scenery they require for their play.
These models greatly resemble in their general appear-
ance and size the toy theatres that are sold to childi^en.
The stage carpenter, who goes around day and night
treading the staire in his own shulllinsr and careless
way, and who is entirely unknown to the public, takes
the models and builds frames over which canvas or
muslin is spread. Then the canvas-covered frame is
taken to the scene painter's bridge Avhen it is ready for
the colors. In many theatres the bridge is a platform
extending across the stage, and distant from the rear
wall about a foot. It is on a level with the Hies, and
the opening l)etween it and the rear wall is used for
lowering and hoisting a scene, which is hung on a largo
wooden frame while tlio artist is at work upon it.
This frame moves u[) and down, being swung on pul-
leys. The most improved theatres East and West, in
addition to having the dressing-rooms, engines, etc.,
in a building separate from the theatre, have the jiaint
bridge also separate. Great iron doors, three or four
stories high, close the opening to the painting estab-
lishment, and all scenery not in use on the stago
durmg the run of a play is stored in the space under
the bridge, Avhile the bridge itself is really a long nar-
THE ARMY OF ATTACHES.
201
fow room with an opening at one side of a foot or less,
feaMu,.
'! II ,
HELPING THE SCENE PAINTER.
through which communication is had with the store-
202 TlIK AKMV or ATTACHES.
room, and which gives space for the operation of the
frames upon which scenes are painted. The artist's
palette is a h)ni;; tabU' with comi)artments at the back
for ditferent coh)rs, and there is besides a profusion of
paint cans, jars, etc., with huge brushes that might
serve the whitewaslicr's wide-spread pui'posc, and
otliers thin enough to paintahidy's eyc-hish. Water-
colors are used, and great splotches of it arc found
along the lengthy palette. The removal of the paint-
bridixe from the sta<2:e is a blessin<r to actors and
actresses alike, for often during a performance at night
or a i-ehearsal in the morning broadcloths and silktj re-
ceived dashes of paint from the brush of the man at
work in mid-air. Still actresses do not often keep shy
of the })aint-bridge. The ballet-girls are sometimes
to be found there amusing themselves with the artist
and his assistants, and they tell'the story of two New
York actresses who actually i)ut on aprons, took hold
of the big brushes, and assisted a scenic artist in
"priming" his canvas. They were bantering him
about the slow progress he was lUMking with a scene
that was wanted that night, when he remarkcMl : "If
you arc in such a hurry for the scene, why don't you
come up here and help me?" They accepted the in-
vitation at once, and went to work in the manner I
have suggested. The scene was ready that night, but
the actresses were very tired. They painted no more.
The "priming" of a scene which I have mentioned
in the i)rcceding anecdote, consists in laying a coat of
white mixed with sizing u[)on the canvas. When this
is dry the artist outlines his scene in charcoal. He
first gets his perspective, which he does by attaching a
long piece of twine to a pin lixi'd at his " vanishing
point." Then blackening the string and beginning at
the top he snai)S it so as to make a black line which is
THE ARMY OP ATTACHES. 203
afterwards gone over with ink. This line is repro-
duced whenever the drawing requires, and the advan-
tage it aftbrds will be readily understood by all who
know anything about art or appreciate the value of
good perspective in drawing. The sky of the scene is
first filled in rapidly with a whitewash brush, after which
follows a swift but clever completion of the view.
The side scenes which are to be used as continuations
of the " flat," as the principal or back part of. a scene
is called, must be in perspective with the rest of the
picture. Scenic artists work very quickly, and can
prepare a view in a very short time. Morgan, Mars-
ton, Fox, and Voegtlin, in New York ; Goatcher, in
Cincinnati ; and Dick Halley, Tom Noxon, and Ernest
Albert, in St. Louis, are among the best scene painters
in the country. The salaries paid in this branch of
the profession vary from $40 to $150 a Aveek. A New
York artist, it is said, who works very fast, receives as
much as $100 to $150 for one or two scenes. When it
is taken into consideration that at the end of the run
of a play these scenes are blotted out to make way for
others, the price paid for them is simply enormous.
The old woman of the company is an elderly
matronly female, who may be found hovering in the
wings of every theatre. She is nobody's mother in
particular, but talks in a motherly way to all, and ex-
ercises a special supervision over the female members
of the company. In strange contrast to her is the
call-boy, a mischievious devil-may-care young fellow,
who calls Booth " Ed," Bernhardt " Sallie," and has
familiar appellations for the most prominent and digni-
fied people in the profession. It is his business to call
- performers from the green-room in time for them to
take their " cue" for going on the stage, and this is
about all he has to do except to make trouble, to learn
(204) THE "OLD MOM AN " OF THE COMPANY'.
THE ARMY OF ATTACHES.
205
secrets that he whispers about, and to become an imp-
ish nuisance revelling in more fun and freedom than
anybody else behind the scenes. Aimee took a liking
to one of these little g-entlemen once and fed him
cigarettes, and let him tell her lies ad libitum. She
said she liked him because he was such " a charming
little beast." Alice Oates, of flagrant fame, allowed
one of them out West to get into her good graces, and
repented it, when she found that he disappeared sud-
THE AESTHETIC DRAMA.
denly one day with a lot of her jewels. The call-boy
comes last in the list of attaches, but he is not at all
least. If you believe all he tells you, like the usher,
you will think him a great man, for he often boasts of
playing poker with John McCuUough, of taking Lotta
out for a drive, or of rolling ten-pins with Salvini or
some equally illustrious representative of the highest
dramatic art. A call-boy gets about $10 a week, and
in five cases out of ten he isn't worth ten cents.
CHAPTER XIV.
STAGE-STRUCK.
George Mc^Iamis, treasurer of tlio Grand Opera
House, St. Louis, in addition to being a good story-
teller, is as fond of a practical joke as he is of three
meals a day. Diirini!: the season of 1880—81 George
was at the box-otfi(;c window, one day, lookincj out at
the Dutch laijcr beer saloon across the street, and
wondering why it was that i)eople were so fond of
"schooners," when a tall, thin, melancholy, Hamlet-
like young fellow, with the air and clothes of rusticity,
stalked sloAvly into tlic vestibule and n[) to the box-
office.
" Well, sir," said George, as the young man got iu
front of the window and fixed his elbows on the sill.
" I want to be an actor," the young man began;
"I kein hero from Cahokia, a small i)laco you may
havp hcern about, and I'd like to go on the stage and
play somethiu' or other."
*» Oh," answered George, smiling, " if that's all you
want"! can fix you. When do you want to begin?"
" I am ready to start in right neow," was the reply.
" I told the old folks when I left the house last night
that they needn't expect to see me ag'in 'til my name
wuz on the walls an' the sides o' houses in letters
more'n a yard long, an' Tin goin' to do it or die."
'* I sec you're made out of the right kind of stulT,"
said George, "ami 111 give you a first-class ciiancc.
You'ie ambitious and you're lean — lean enough to
(200)
STAGE-STRUCK. 207
pliiy Falstaff — and lean and ambitious people always
make their mark. Have you ever heard of the lean
and hungry Cassius? — I don't mean a depositor at
the door of a busted bank, bnt the Cassius of ' Julius
Coesar.' I'll bet you feel just like him now ; you look
like him."
The Cahokian candidate for Thespian honors blushed.
*' Well," the practical joker went on, "you can begin
work this morning. The minstrels will be here in a
few minutes for rehearsal, and they want a new box
of gags. Go over to Harry Noxon, at the Comique,
and ask him to give you a box of the best gags he's
got. Tell him they're for me."
With a face wreathed in smiles the Cahokian Cassius
stalked off towards the Comique while George went
out and gathered in a few friends to enjoy the joke.
The Cahokian went to the ('omique, and Harry Noxon,
understanding what was meant, gave the poor fellow a
box half filled with bricks, and telling him that was all
he had, directed him to go up to Pope's and ask for
Ed. Zimmerman, who would fill the box for him.
Shouldering the heavy load, the Cahokian moved
bravely out towards Pope's, six and one-half blocks
away. He was pretty tired when he got there. Ed.
Zimmerman, in obedience to his request, sent the box
around to the stage-door, where the carpenter removed
the lid and added bricks enough to fill the receptacle.
Nailing the lid on again the stage-struck youth was
once more presented Avith it. It took a great deal of
exertion for him to get the box to his shoulder, and
when he had it there he staggered along under the load
like a drunken man, to the Opera House seven blocks
away. When he reached the Opera House, McManus
said the Minstrels had changed their mind about usins:
any new gags, and requested the Cahokian to carry
208 STAGE-STRUCK.
tlicin over to the 01ym]iic. The Cahokiiin looked at
McMiimis, tlien took ;i woofiil and -weary look at the
box, and, wiping the perspiration from his high fore-
head and thin face, he swnng his slonch hat over his
brow and remarked that he was tired.
♦' 1 say, Mister," he said, " if that's what a fellow's
got to do to be a actor I'd sooner plow corn er
run a thrashiir-masheen twenty-three honrs out'n the
twentv-four. 1 thonu^ht there was more fun in the
business than canyin' around two or three hundred
pounds of iron or somethin' like it, all day in the sun.
I guess I'll throw up my engagement. Good-lye."
And he strode out into the street, while George and
his friends had a laugh that was as hearty as the lungs
that led in the merriment were loud and strong.
There arc a few young men and young ladies in this
world who do not take the same view of the stage that
the Cahokian took : they imagine there is a great deal
of fun ill being an actor or an actress, and that it does
not require any special effort to arrive" at the point
where a person becomes a full-Hedged professional. In
this they arc just as much mistaken as was the Caho-
kian, and sometimes, after they have gone into training
for the profession, they tire of the hard work as readily
almost as the stage-struck young farmer tired of car-
rvin"" the box of " irairs." There is a ji^eneral wild
desire among the young people of this country to
make ])layers of themselves. They dream that the
stage is something like a seventh heaven where there is
nothing but music and singing and golden glory for-
ever— admirers, wealth, and an uninterrupted good
time generally. They do Jiot know anything al)out
the long and toilsome hours of work and the compar-
atively i)oor i)ay that form the portion of all who are
not at the top of the dramatic ladder. They never
STAGE-STRUCK.
209
pause to think if they are girls of the temptations into
which they will be thrown, and of the slanders that will
be uttered against their fair names upon the slightest
provocation. All they see or know of theatrical life is
its bright gilded side, the tinsel that looks valuable, the
KITTY BLANCHARD.
jewels that are paste, the silks and satins that are not
what they seem, and the beautiful faces and bright smiles
beneath which are wrinkles and toil-laden looks, when
the actress is in her home plying her needle or studying
14
210 STAGE-STRUCK.
the long leuirths tliiit belong to her part. It is because
people are so ignorant of the realities of dramatic life
that so many become stage-struck and go around strik-
ing tragic attitudes and rating imaginary scenery in
a rabid rant through Othello's address to the Sen-
ate, or Hamlet's scene with his mother in the hit-
ter's chamber. There are forty thousand young ladies
in this land "svho want to be Mary Andersons, and as
many more who think they can kick as cutely as Lotta,
while one hundred thousand semi-bald vounij men im-
airine thcv could out-Hamlet Booth if they had a
chance, or lift the mantle of Forrest from John Mc-
Cullcuirh if the latter dared enter the ring: with them.
A Louisville newspaper reporter gave a very humor-
ous description of an epidemic of this kind that pre-
vailed in Mary Anderson's home city some time ago.
" One half tlie girls of the city," said the writer,
** are staore-struck ! — starlv,starin<x stao^e-struck. Hun-
dreds of residences have been converted into amateur
play-houses, where would-be female stars tear their
hair, rave and split the air with their arms, and stalk
majestically across imaginary stages to the imaginary
music of imaginary orchestras, and amid burst of im-
aginary a[)[)lause and showers of imaginary boquets.
In the dry goods stores young ladies rush u[) to the
counters with inspiration dropping from their eyes in
great hunks and in hollow tones command the allVi":ht-
ened clerk to —
"Haste thee, cringing vassal; pr-r-r-r-ro-duce and
br-r-r-r-r-ing into our pi--r-r-r-r-esence thy sixty-five-
cent hose !*'
In the ice cream saloons the maidens shove the; cool-
ing cream into their lovely mouths ;ind sweetly min--
raur to their escorts : —
"Now, by me faith, Orlando, but is't not a nectar
STAGE-STRUCK. 211
fit for the gods? Speiik, me beloved; is't not a
dainty dish that graces our festal board? "
And practical Orlando replies : —
" I bet you."
On the street-car the maiden stalks forward toward
the driver and howls : —
" What, ho, there, charioteer, give mc, I pray thee,
diminutive coin for this one dollar bond an' I will upon
the instant requite thee for thy services upon this
journey."
When one of them catches a flea she holds the vic-
tim at arms' length and roars : —
" Ha-a-a-a ! I have thee at last, vile craven. For
many nights thy visits to me chamber have br-r-r-ought
unrest. Now at la-a-st thou art in me clutches and I
will shower vengeance upon thy thr-rice accursed head.
Die, vile in-gr-rate, and may the seething fires of per-
dition engulf thy quivering soul forever-r-r-r ! "
Then she opens her fingers a little to get a good
squeeze at him and the flea hops out and goes home
to tell its folks about it. They have got it bad and
none of the old established methods of treatment seem
to avail.
It is the very height of absurdity to see an amateur
company on a stage, and particularly on the stage of a
theatre. In the midst of the most solemn tragedy one
is compelled to laugh at them. If they have on tights
and trunks they try to get their hands into side pock-
ets, and if they carry swords the weapon gets tangled
in their legs, and ten to one after the blade has left its
scabbard, the wearer will be unable to get it back
again. Then the way they walk upon each other's
heels, and tread upon each other's corns ; jostle each
other in the entrances and stick in their lines is enousrh
to make one of the painted figures in the proscenium
212 STAGE-STRUCK.
arch tear itself out of its mcdalion frame and die from
excessive lai^ditcr. More ludicrous even than their
performance is the frantic rush a young amateur makes
foi' the ph(Uograph gallery to have himself preserved
as a courtier, and the equally rapid progress the young
society lady makes in the same direction — anxious to
have her picture taken no matter whether she plays a
queen, a lady of honor, or a page in tights. She has
no hesitancy in displaying her a.vkward limhs in a
picture, although she would he ashamed to show her
ankle in the parlor.
Sometimes, instead of heing made the suhject of a
practical joke on the street, as was the Cahokian of
whom I told the story at the oi)ening of this chapter,
the joke is carried even farther — the aspirant being
taken to the staije to jrivc a sami)le of his work. Oc-
casionally the show is given to the i)eo[)le of the thea-
tre only, and the victim is quietly let through a tra[),
or guyed unmercifully, until he is glad of an op[)()r-
tuuity to make his escai)e. I was present on an
occasion when an Illinoisan wlio had just graduated
from coUeire was aUowed to <;o on the staijc during a
matinee performance, when the house was light, to
speak his ])iece. He chose, of course, the selection ho
had inflicted on the suH'ering audience that attended
the Illinois college graduating exercises. It was " The
Warrior BowcmI his Crested Head," a very dramatic
recitation and a difUcult one even for a good reader.
Thed(il)utant was about eighteen years of age, tall, and
manly looking. He came forward trembling, and did
not attempt to proceed further than about twelve feet
from the entrance, — making a school-boy bow he
began. The audience wondered at the innocence
and awkwardness of the entertainei' who did not
appear in the programme, l)ut ;ill soon understood the
STAGE STRUCK.
213
MRS. LANQTRY, THE JERSEY LILY.
214 STAGE-STRUCK.
afTiiir. The debutant had noi reached the second line
of the second verse, when hang caino a pistol shot
from the side of the stage. The speaker ducked his
head, trembled a little more than before, but went on.
Bang went another pistol shot, and again the speaker
acknowledged receipt of a shock by twitching his head
and knocking his knees together. Still he kept on re-
citing. Sheet-iron thunder rattled through the place,
horns w'cre blown, drums beaten, horse-rattles ke[)t in
motion and lor more than half an hour pistol shots and
flashes of tire kei)t coming from both sides of the stage.
Still he spoke on, making gestures, twitching his limbs,
and ducking his head until the last liiu? was reached, —
something about the hero's weapons t;hiniiig no more
among the spears of Spain, — when he bowed and re-
tire<l hardly able to walk. He was an exception,
however, to the general rule that stage-struck people
are easily frightened out of their wits, under such cir-
cumstances, and (lis[)layed such perseverance that he
was complimented by the audience that had scarcely
he:ird a word of what he had said — aloud burst of
applause following his exit, wiiich was continued until
he came forward again and by a bow acknowledged
their kindness. II(Mnust liavc been a bi'ave fellow, for
nextdav he was around at the manairi'r's office askiui;
for an engagement
Managers arc; sometimes very cruel in their treatment
of young people who arc anxious to adopt the stage. I
saw a newspaper item staling that at the Buckingham,
a variety show in I^ouisville, a drop curtain was
painted with the huge letters " N. (x.," standing for
♦' no good," and the manager ordered that this verdict
be lowered in front of every ))erfornier who failed to
show a fair degree of merit. It happened that the first
to deserve this crushing verdict was a remarkably pretty
STAGE-STRUCK. 215
girl, and the audience sympathized with her. She had
given an execrable dance, and was in the midst of a
woeful recitation, when the " N. G." curtain was low-
ered. The audience demanded her reappearance and
did not permit anybody else to perform until the po-
lice had arrested the more gallant and noisy among
them.
Amateurs who have any money to mingle with their
desire to go on the stage find ready takers. I could
name several gentlemen who are now alleged profes-
sionals, with talents that are not even mediocre, who
are tolerated in first-class company only because they
pay for the privilege. One way a moneyed, stage-
struck person has of getting before the public is to
rent a theatre, and hire a company for a night or a
week or a month, as the case may be. Society swells
generally do this kind of thing, and they never suc-
ceed. Marie Dixon was, under another name, a fairly
well-to-do, well connected and popular lady of Mem-
phis, Tennessee. She was old enough to have a mar-
ried son, but did not appear to be more than thirty-six
years. Her family had been very wealthy before the
war, but that event swept away their possessions, as
it swept away the possessions of many others. She
was educated and accomplished, but was stage-struck.
She had appeared at several amateur concert enter-
tainments in Memphis, and the local papers having
complimented her, and her friends having remarked
that she was intended for an actress, she boldly, but
foolishly, resolved to become one. She made up her
mind to rival Mary Anderson, and to overshadow the
memory of Ristori and all the great queens of the stage
that have made a place for themselves in dramatic
history. She paid $2,000 for the use of a St. Louis
theatre for six nights ; she hired a very bad company
216 STAGK-STRUCK.
at, to tlicni, very extravagant salaries; she bought a
wardrobe Lirgcr and in some respects riclier than that
of any established star ; then she came to St. Louis
with her aged father, Avhose hopes and money were
staked upon her; they put up at the Lindell Hotel,
and having left Memphis amid a flourish of trumpets,
they fondly expected a wikler liourish when they
returned. Miss Dixon appeared before the St. Louis
public for six nights, and was a failure. She was no
actress. She was ashamed to return to Memphis, and
at this writing is still absent from there. The father
went home, and, I hear, died of a broken heart. Dis-
appointed friends at first pitied, then laughed at this
accomplished lady, whose only fault seems to be that
she was one of the grand army of the stage-struck.
Miss Helen M. Lewis, a Charleston, South Caro-
lina, heiress, who was anxious to become a Sarah
Bernhardt or a Siddons, was taken in recently by an
advertisement in a New York paper. The advertise-
ment stated that a lady with a little capital was wanted
to head a first-class dramatic combination, and that
she might call at No. G02 Sixth Avenue, New York.
Miss Lewis, who was without any training, answered
the advertisement, and was told that $1,000 would be
required to obtain the position, which was leading
lady in the '♦ Daniel Rochat " Combination, which was
to begin its tour, by opening at the Boston Theatre.
The negotiations were carried on with Maurice A.
Schwab and Robert J. Rummel, who received $700
from Miss Lewis, and fm-nished her with an allejred in-
structor in the dramatic art. In order to be near the
theatre Miss Lewis took rooms at the Revere House,
Boston, where Schwa)) and Rummel also established
themselves, and proceeded to study her part after en-
gaging an alleged instructor recommended by Schwab.
STAGE-STRUCK.
217
After two or three weeks' standing off by the swin-
dlers, who made constant demands on her for money
for her wardrobe and other things, she chanced to call
at the Boston Theatre to hear how the rehearsals of
MARIE PRESCOTT AS '< PARTHENIA."
"Daniel Rochat " were progressing. She was told
that there were no rehearsals in progress and learned
that she had been swindled. Schwab and Rummel
fled, leaving her to pay her hotel bill, but she had them
arrested in New York, and both on trial were, I
218 STAGE-STRUCK.
think, convicted and sent to tlic penitentiary, where
plenty more managers of their stripe should be.
^Managers of what are known as " snap " companies
are just as bad us Schwab and Kummcl. They are
glad to find some young lady or gentleman of means
with lots of ready cash, and they do not hesitate to
make victims even of professional people. The snap
manager has no money of his own. He sits around a
theatrical printing ollice all da}', and pretends to be
running a circuit of several towns. lie watches his
opportunit}'' until a comi)any conies along which he
thinks he can take over to his villages. By false
representations he manages to run up a big bill Avith the
printer and to borrow money from the company, who
go as far on his circuit as their means will permit,
when the snaj) manager deserts them, leaving them to
walk, or bog, or borrow their way home as best they
can. Marie Prescott, who supi)orted Salvini dni-ing
his last American tour, and who is an actress of merit,
was caught in tiic clutches of one of these managers at
one time and was put in a pitiable plight. Other ac-
tresses of good reputation have accepted engagements
from strange managers only to find themselves mem-
bers of ily-l)y-night combinations, giving their ser-
vices without even the show of a ])robal)ility of ever
receiving any salary.
Even so exalted a gentleman and eminent an impre-
sario as ("ol. Manleson is allcLred to Iiave l)i-outrht a
young girl from France promising he would make a
fortune for liei-. The girl's fath(>r and mother accom-
panied her, and when the gallant colonel of Italian
troupes failed to keep his contract with the sweet
singer, the father became enraged and wanted to fight
a duel with th(^ militaiw inipicsjuio. The family went
back to France almost ])enniless.
STAGE-STRUCK. 219
The worst class of manao-ers in the world, arc those
who take advantage of the ambition of young girls to
effect their ruin. In some of the variety theatres man-
agers pay salaries to young ladies or introduce them
to the stage for none other than a base and iniquitous
purpose. Frightful stories of this kind have been told,
and the success real managers have met with in this
direction has caused numerous pretenders to arise, and
has made the theatrical profession a bait to secure in-
nocent o-irls for Western and Southern bawdv-houses,
concert dives, and low dancing-halls. I read the fo*l-
lowino; advertisement in the Glohe-Democrat one
mornino; ; —
P
ERSONAL —Wanted, three or four young ladies to join a trav-
elling company. Address Manager, this office.
I knew that reputable theatrical managers did not
advertise in this style — indeed, they need not adver-
tise at all, for there is always plenty of talent in the
market — and came to the conclusion that the
"Personal" was a veil to hide some piece of dirty
work. Therefore I sat down, and, in varying feminine
hands, wrote letters to the manager, asking for an
opening. Two letters, with their corresponding an-
swers, are here selected as specimens of the remainder,
answers to all having been received. One of the ap-
plications ran as follows : —
St. Lours, February 6, 1878.
Mr. Manager : I want to adopt the stage ; have ap-
peared as an amateur, and will join you if I can learn.
I am seventeen, a blonde, small, and my friends say I
look well on the stage. I sing and perform on the guitar.
I have a friend — a very pretty brunette — who is very
anxious to go with me, but she has never acted. She is
same age. Please let me know where I can see you,
220 STAGE-STRUCK.
if you liavo not iilreiuly employed cnougli ; but I must
be particular, as my mother docs not want nie to go
away. Address Ettie IIolan,
City Post-Office.
I will call at general delivery and get it.
The other was written in this strain and in these
words : —
St. Louis, February (I, 1S77.
Dear Sir : I saw your advertisement iu this morn-
ing's Globe- Democrat ^ asking for three or four young
ladies to join a travelling theatrical company, and as I
am desirous of going on the stage, and am of good
form and pretty fair appearance, and have a pretty
good voice, I would wish to join your company. I
have never appeared on any regular stage, but made
several amateur appearances, which were pronounced
very successful. I have an ambition for the stage,
and think I would succeed. 1 am seventeen years of
age, and medium height, with black hair and dark
eyes, and am a tasty dresser. I hope 3'ou will not
pass over my api)lication, but Avill receive it fav()ral)ly.
Anxiously awaiting an early reply, I remain, respect-
fully yours, etc., Lizzik IIilokr.
P. S. — Address your reply to me to the post-office.
These and the others were all calculated to make the
*' manager " feel that he had captured a whole shoal of
gudgeons. He would certainly reply to such unsophis-
ticated notes as these, and he did. The letters were
placed in the newspaper office box on Wednesday after-
noon, and brigiit and early on Thursday morning, I
went around to the post-office, presented my string of
names, and met with no little opposition from the gen-
tlemanly delivery clerk, at first, who naturally did not
like to give an annt'ul of mail for females to one who
STAGE-STRUCK. 221
was not a female. The situation was explained, how-
ever, and a half dozen rose-tinted envelopes, all prop-
erly backed and stamped, and each containing an
epistle, was the result. They were opened one after
another, and the rose-tinted and perfumed pages of
each told, in a bold running hand exactly the same
story — *'pass thecorner of Eightli and Locust Streets,"
at hours varying from noon to sundown on Thursday
afternoon. It was just what had been expected. Ettie
Holan, the i^etite blonde, who could play the guitar,
was answered as follows : —
St. Louis, Mo., February 6, 1878.
Miss Ettie Holan : Your letter throuo-h the G.-D.
at hand. We desire to engage several young ladies for
the company now traveling, and among numerous ap-
plicants note yours, and think it possible to fix an
engagement both for yourself and lady friend. As you
are very particular about your folks, you might possibly
object to coming to our ofiice, so if you desire the en-
gagement, please pass the corner of Locust and Eighth
Streets with your lady friend about four (4) o'clock P.
M. to-morrow (Thursday), the 7th.
Yours, respectfully, Harry Russell.
And Lizzie Hilger, with nothing to recommend her
but a voice and fio-ure that she had recommended her-
self, was encouraged in her ambitious aspirations in the
followins^ manner : —
St. Louis, Mo., February 6, 1878.
Miss Lizzie Hilger : Your favor at hand. Araono-
numerous applicants I have remembered yours. We
desire several young ladies to strengthen the company
for our Chicago and Boston engagements, and desire
to meet you personally, if possible, to-morrow after-
noon. You may object to coming to our ofiice, so
222
STAGE-STRUCK.
]ile:ise pass the corner of Locust and Eiglilli Streets
to-morrow afternoon (Thursday) about 2:30 (half-
past two) o'clork.
Yours, respectfully, IIauuv Russell,
ManajTcr.
Ilcrc then was the " niauairer's " little came. Of
M.Mi;. FANNY JANAUSHKK.
course Tluiry Kussdl was not the iMinTs name at all,
and of course he had no olHce to which either Miss
Ettielloiaii or Miss Liz/ie Ililger, or any of the four
STAGE-STRUCK. 223
other girls who had applied for positions through me,
" might object to coming," and of course he had noth-
ing to do with strengthening any company's Boston
or Chicasro em>:a2:ements. It was evident now, if not
before, that the advertisement was a snare to trap the
unwary and to pull the wool over the eyes of the inno-
cent and unsuspecting, and I made up my mind to pay
a visit to the locality named in the above letters.
A visit was paid, after dinner, to the proposed place
of meeting. On the way up I met a detective friend,
to whom my business was disclosed. The detective
said he would go along and "spot" the fellow for
future reference, and he did. Handsome Harry was
found at his post, gazing up and down and across the
street. He was standing in front of a saloon, on the
corner, and a friend was hard by, who was to witness
the success of the little game. Now and then a young
lady passed to or from her home, and every time she
came within sight " Manager " Harry began to prepare
himself for the " mash." The coat front was read-
justed, the shirt collar straightened up, the hat lifted
from the head and the finoers run throuijh the hair,
and, as a last and finishing touch, the ends of his dainty
moustache were fingered and carefully set away from his
lips with a silk handkerchief. But here came the
young lady. How he stared her in the face as she came
towards him, ogled her when near by, and cast a dis-
consolate and disappointed look after her as she passed.
Then he went back to communicate to his friend that
she was probably " not the one," or that " maybe she
weakened," and again took his stand to watch the next
comer. This little business was gone through with as
many times as there were young ladies who passed. At
last it was evident to the two persons who had their eyes
on Harry that he was beginning to weaken, and was
224 STAGK-STRUCK.
about to leave the place for a time at least. Under
these circumstances there was only one thins; to do —
to go over and have a talk with him about the show
business and make further engagements for the young
ladies who were so anxious to blossom forth on the
stage. The detective walked up to the man who was
presumably llarrv Kussell.
*' Do you know of a man named Harry Russell stop-
ping about hero? " asked the detective,
Harry was with his friend now, and both became al-
most livid in the face and were evidently taken back
by the inquiry.
'* N-no ; w-wliat is he? " stammered out Harry.
" I believe he's manager of a theatrical company."
" Hamy " had somewhat regained his mental equi-
librium l)y this time, and answered positively ; " Don't
know him ; never heard of him,"
■•' Have you seen any man around in the past half
hour? Russell made an cn2i;a£^cment to meet me
here."
" I haven't boon here but a1)out ten minutes," and
away "Harry" and his friend sailed.
The detective and myself had been watching
the pseudo manager for over two hours Tr(»m a room
across the street, and, of course, knew there was no
truth in the measure he placed u[)on the time he was
Avatciiinij: and waitinj]: for victims that never came.
He was not a theatrical man, but some dirty scamp.
Some time ago an advertisement of the same char-
acter as the "Personal" quoted above, appeared in
the Chicago papers, and many young ladies, anxious
to adopt the stage as a i)rofession, applied for posi-
tions. They obtained admission to the quasi manager,
whr), when no resistance was made by the applicants,
shipped them to Texas and other .Southern points,
STAGE-STRUCK. 225
where they found themselves perhaps- penniless in the
midst of a life of uncertainties, into which they had
been duped and to which they had been sold. Many
of these had been, and would still be, respectable
young girls and ornaments to their respective home
circles, were it not for the serpent with the fascinating
eyes that peeped out at them from under the three or
four lines in the advertising columns of that Chicago
paper. Discoveries of the same kind were made in
several cities of the East, and it is dreadful to contem-
plate the havoc which must have been wrought by this
means, for surely many of the hundreds of really good
girls, who are always sure to answer such an advertise-
ment in the innocent belief that it may be the means
of making Neilsons, Cushmans, Morrises or some other
equally firmamentary individual in the galaxy of the
stage of them, and who refused to be debauched, were
sorely disappointed in the result of their apparent good
fortune in obtainino; the recomition of the " manao;er."
The following letter from a band of stage-struck
young men of color is an extraordinary document, and
may be taken as a sample of the letters received* every
day by theatrical managers : —
Kansas City, 1789 [1879], January 14. Mr. De
Bar, Dear Sir, I take thes opportunity of witring you
theas few lines to ask you for an engagement at the
Orepry [Opera] house if you can as we would like to
get it if we can. i and my trop can do a great meny
performence on the stage. W. H. Terrell he can do
the Iron Joyrl [iron jaw] performence and do a Jig
Dance and a Clos; and Double Son«: and Dance and
other tricks. Mr. Benjermer Frankler [Benjamin
Franklin] waltz With a pail of water on his head and
plays the frence harp the sanetime on the stage and
laying down with it on his head and roal all over the
■2-2i]
STAGE-STRUCK.
floor :iii(l .lump G feet hiagli in the :iir on IkukI and feet,
allso and we have the Best IVcncli liai'i) players in tho
■world that ever plaid on one. and leaping throuirh a
hoop t)f lire same as a circus. If you can git it lor
ROSE EYTINGE.
me pleas write soon and let me know. Sam Clirismau
is one of my atctcrs. yours Truly, B. Franklin.
Excuse writing and paper. This is a Cold trop.
It is hardly necessary for me to say Ben De Bar did
not give tho *' Cold trop" an engagement. Toor old
Ben was dead at that time.
CHAPTER XV.
THE REHEARSAL.
When the seeker after histrionic honors has at hist
crossed the threshold of the stao;e, he or she will find
it entirely diflercnt from the glitter and glory with
which the iniaijination had clothed thinijs theatrical.
The first revelation made to new-comers in the pro-
fession is the rehearsal. This generally begins about
ten A.M. and ends about two p. m. In the old days of
stock companies, performers had more laborious work to
perform than men who carry railroad iron out of, or into,
steamboats. Often there were new plays every night,
which meant now parts to be memorized, and rehearsals
every day. Leaving the theatre at eleven p. m.,
about the usual hour of closing a performance at that
time, the actor took his part with him, and instead of
going to his bed, was obliged to sit up and study his
lines — no matter how many lengths there were.
Torn and worn out with his niofht's work on the stage,
and the mental toil that followed, it was often al-
ready mornin2: when the actor souj^ht his couch. He
was then obliged to be up in a few hours and at the
theatre at ten. If he absented himself there was a fine
that Avould materially reduce his already low salary.
Where was the room for enjoyment for the actor or
actress in those daj^s? There was little opportunity
given to anjdjody at all employed upon the stage to be
of dissolute habits or to indulge in any of the excesses
that pulpit-pounders and their intolerant and intoler-
(227)
228 THE REHEARSAL.
al)le followers generally charged against the profes-
sion. These super-moral individuals could not make
a distinction between the stage of the days of Mrs.
Bracogirdle and Mistress "VVoffington, of Mrs. Jordan
and Mrs. Kobinson, when tilth and licentiousness pre-
vailed because the public found no fault with it, and
the. same things were prevalent in ranks of the very
best society. Now that we have travelling combina-
tions, and that one part will last a man or woman who
pays attention to business for a year or more, the pro-
fession is not so heavily taxed ; still there is plenty of
work, and there is little, if any, time to devote to any
of the pleasures or excesses that prurient piety points
out as the portion of players. But this is moralizing'
Let us get back to the rehearsal. Less than ten years
ago a rciiearsal might be found going on in any theatre
in the country between the hours of ten a. m. and
two r. M. Now it is a rare thing to tind a rehearsal ex-
cept on Monday, and in the few cities where Sunday-
night performances are given this day may be set
apart, when the oi)ening or first performance is on the
same night. As travelling goes now, a company
reaches a town either the nii^ht before, or the mornin<x
of the day for their initial entertainment. No matter
what the time of arrival — unless it be, as often hap-
pens, that the (■om[)any gels oil' the train and to the
theatre fifteen minutes before the curtain is to go up —
every member of the company will be expected at the
theatre in the morning for rehearsal, not so much to
go through their parts as to familiarize themselves
with the entrances and exits and the m'ueral arranp^c-
ment of the liouse. The staije manager is there and
the orchestra is in its place. If it is comic opera there
is a rehearsal of the music, and if it is one of the
musico-farcical or burlesque pieces that were epidemic
THE REHEARSAL. 229
during the past two seasons, the play will be rehearsed
that the musicians may come in with their flare up at
the proper time.
A rehearsal is calculated to take all the starch out of
the ambition of a neophyte, and to drench his hopes in
a sorrowful manner. The stao;e bereft of its flood of'
light, of its gorgeous color and wealth of splendor, is
the darkest, dreariest, and most commonijlace reo;ion
in the world. The buzz of saw and the clatter of
hammer are heard in all directions, while men in aprons,
overalls, and greasy caps are making the saw-and-ham-
mer noises, and others even less romantic are drao-o-inor
about scenery or boxes ; gas men are at work on the
foot-lights, and there is noise and confusion enough to
set a whole villagefuU of sybarites crazy. Down in
front a group of ladies and gentlemen are moving
about and talking. These are the players — the peo-
ple we saw the night before in rich attire, with glowing
jewels and surrounded with all the magnificence,
wealth could bestow or royalty command. Now, the
king's crown is a black slouch hat and the royal robes
are a dark sack coat and vest, light trousers, and white
shirt with picadilly collar. The queen has a last-year
bonnet on her head and a water-proof cloak envelopes
her form. The other actors are also in eveiy-day dress,
some showing that their owners patronize first-class
tailors and others that they have been handed down
from the shelves of cheap ready-made clothing houses.
The stage manager is pushing everybody around, and
the actors and actresses are talkins: at one another in
lines. Some have books of the play, for they are re-
hearsing, and all rattle over their lines as if running a
race with a locomotive that is drawins^ Vanderbilt's
special car over the road at its topmost speed. It is
impossible to understand what they are saying, and
230
THE KEITEARSAL.
the oii-lookcr would he williunj to wairor a $10 "old
piece :i2::iinst a silver dime with a hole in it th:it the
pcrforniers do not hear or understand each otlu-r.
But a Calitbruia journalist has Avritten a very truthful
a(;n'Es i$ootii.
and fuiniv ac^eouut of a rehearsal ho attendcid in San
Frtiucisco. Olive Logan has it iu her l)()ok, l)nl it is
so <jood I will make use of it ajjaiu. Here it is : —
Yon may get as perfect an idea of a i)lay by seeing it
THE IJEIIEARSAL. 231
rehearsed as you would of Shakespeare from hearing it
read in Hindustani. The first act consists in an exhi-
bition of great irritability and impatience by the stage
manager at th.e non-appearance of certain members
of the troupe. At what theatre? Oh, never mind
what theatre. We will take liberties and mix them
thus : —
Stage Manager (calling to some one at the front en-
trance) : " Send those people in."
The people are finally hunted up one by one and go
rushing down the passage and on to the stage like hu-
man whirlwinds.
Leading Lady (reading) : " My chains a-a-a-a-a
rivet me um-um-um (carpenters burst out in a tre-
mendous fit of hammering) this man."
Star : ' ' But I implore — buz-buz-buz — never —
um-um " (great sawing of boards somewhere).
Echearsal reading, mind you, consists in the occa-
sional distinct utterance of a word, sandwiched in be-
tween large quantities of a strange, monotonous sound,
something between a drawl and a buz, the last two or
three words of the part being brought out with an
emphatic jerk.
Here Th n rushes from the rear : —
" Now my revenge,"
Star (giving directions) : " No, you Mrs. H — s — n,
S'tand there, and then when I approach you, Mr.
B — r — y, step a little to the left ; then the soldiers
pitch into the villagers and the villagers into the sol-
diers, and I shoot you and escape into the mountains."
Stage Manager (who thinks ditFerently) : "Allow
me to suggest, Mr. B s, that" — (here the ham-
mering and sawing burst out all over the stage and
drown everything).
This matter is finally settled. The decision of the
232 TTIR rvEIlEARSAL.
oldest member of the troupe having been appealed to,
is adopted. Then Mr. I\Ic h is missinix. The
manager bawls "Me h!" Everybody bawls,
^^^Ic- h!" "Gimlet! Gimlet!"' This is the
playful rehearsal appellation ^oy Hamlet. Gimlet is at
length captured and goes rushing like a locomotive
down the passage.
Stage Manager : *' Now, ladies and gentlemen. All
on!"
They tumble up the stage steps and gather in groups.
H — 1 — u fences with everybody. Miss H — w — n exe-
cutes an imperfect j9f/s seul.
Leading Ladv : " I-a-a-a-a love-um-um-um — and-a-
a-a another — "
Miss II — 1 — y. Miss M — d — c, or any other woman :
•' This engagc-a-a-a my son's um-um Bank Exchange."
A — d — n raises his hands and eyes to heaven, say-
ing : " Great father ! he's drunk ! "
Leading Lady (very energetically) : '< Go not, dear-
est Hawes ! The Gorhamites are a-a-a-um-um devour
thee."
Mrs. S— n— s : " IIow ! What ! ! "
Mrs. J li : "Arc those peasantry up there?"
Boy conies up to the stage and addresses the mana-
ger through his nose : " Mr. G., 1 can't find him any-
where."
II y J n : " For as much as I " — (terrible
hammering).
Nasal boy: "Mr. G., I can't find hini anywhere."
I> — c — h : " Stoj) my paper ! "
Manager: " Mr. L., that must be brought out very
strong ; thus, Stop mi/ paper! "
L— c — li (bringing it out with an emphasis which
raises the roof off the theatre) : " Stop my taper I "
The leading lady hero goes through the motion of
TttES REHEARSAL. 233
fainting and falls against the star, who is partly unbal-
anced by her weight and momentum. The star then
rushes distractedly about, arranging the supernumer-
aries to his liking. Ed — s and B — y walk abstract-
edly to and fro. S — n— r dances to a lady near the
wings. These impromptu dances seem to be a favor-
ite pastime on the undressed stage.
Second Lady: " Positively a-a-a- Tom Fitch um-
um amusino; a-aitch a-aitch a-aitch !"
Tt puzzled me for a long time to find out what was
meant by this repetition of a-aitch. It is simply
the readino; of lauo-hter. A-aitch is where *' the
laugh comes in." The genuine pearls of laughter are
reserved for the regular performance. Actresses can-
not afford to cachinate during the tediousness and
drudgery of rehearsal. Usually they feel like crying.
Stage Manager: "We must rehearse this last act
over a2;ain."
CD
Everybody at this announcement looks broadswords
and daggers. There are some pretty pouts from the
ladies, and some deep but energetic profanity from the
gentlemen.
The California journalist has just about done justice
to the subject. I have attended rehearsals when it
was utterly impossible to comprehend whether they
were readino^ Revelations or oroino- throuo^h Mother
Goose's melodies. Drilling the chorus for opera is
attained by the same trials and tribulations as rehear-
sals for dramatic representations. The leader grows
furious at the surrounding noise, and the distractions
that members of the chorus give themselves up to. It
is a bad thing to get them together at first and harder
still to keep them together afterwards. When the
leader with an atmosphere of the kindest humor sur-
rounding his smooth head holds his baton aloft imagin-
234
THE KEHEAKSAL.
ing that everything is all right, says : " Now, ladies and
gentlcnicn, all together," lie gracefully lowers his arm,
but suddenly arises in an angry mood, for thoy are not
THE REHEARSAL.
235
all together. About one-half the throng begin, and
the other half loiter behind to drop in at intervals.
And so it goes from act to act until the opera is fin-
ished. The singers are in street dress and the shab-
biest of garments brush against the most stylish. In
rehearsing grand opera only one act is taken at a time,
TRAINING BALLET DANCERS.
and the scenes presented, with the mellifluous Italian
and the sweet-scented garlic floating around the stage,
are picturesque to the eye, charming to the ear, and
simply entrancing to the nose. The principals re-
hearse sitting.
Ballet dancers have as hard work, if not harder than
23f*) TIIR RF.nEARSAL.
any other class in llic pi-ofcssioii, Tlioy must rehearse
or practice daily, aiul for hours and hours at a time.
The maitre is there with cane and eye-glass, with velvet
coat and lavender trousers, to show them the motions,
and line after lino the strength and limberness of the
limbs of the corps de hnUet are tested. From the
premiere who sits with sealskin sack over her stage
costume with her pet dog l)y her side down to the
latest acquisition to the maitre' s (the ballet master's)
corps, all must be on hand to rehearse with or without
music. In the latter instance the steps are slowly but
carefully gone through. Not only is there a day
rehearsal, but there is private individnaj rehearsal of
the steps at night previous to going on the stage ; for
there is much grace in a corps de ballet^ and no girl in
love Avith her art wishes to be considered awkward or
in the rear ; hence the emulation that exists, and the
private rehearsals in the dressing-room. Many of these
ballet-dancers live poor lives, getting salaries which
after buvinn; their stage dresses leaves them little for the
cupboard and very little to waste upon street costumes.
Some are frail, and have admirers whose purse-strings
they pull wide open, and are therefore able to rustle
around in silks and sport rich golden and jewelled or-
naments, while the honest girls must sup at home on
crusts and share the opprpbrium their shamless com-
panions bring on the entire class. Ballet girls every-
where have a throng of giddy, dissipating male follow-
ers, and those who resist the temptations thrown in
their way are deserving praise rather than condemna-
tion.
Just as the Spanish have their Manzai, the Hindoos
tlicir Xaiitrli girls, the Jaj^anese that remarkable
dance travellers have written so frequently and so much
about, and each country its own particular sway or
NATIONAL DANCES.
(237)
238 THE REHKARSAL.
whirl, so this country seems to have taken kindly to
the ballet. When ii ballet dancer — one of the fa-
mous dancers of the beginning of the century — })re-
sented herself for the first time to an Albany, New York,
audience, the ladies rushed from the stage and there
was almost a panic. But it did not take long to
accustom the Albanians to the undraped drama, and
they are as fond of it now as any of the rest of the not
over-scrupulous people of the country. Not so many
years ago, thei'e was a ballet ever}'' night in the fir>t-
class variety theatres ; now there are few, except in
the East, that have this feature, and for this reason —
the abandonment of it in the West and South — the
])eople who draw conclusions from everything they see
and hear cry out that the ballet is dvinix out. This is
not so. The ballet has been dropi)cd from the list of
attractions in the West, because the manaijers thoujjht
it too costly an institution for them to carry and not
.because the peoj)le did not want it. Some of the best
paying theatrical investments of the day are based
upon the fascinating and drawing qualities of a dis-
played female liinl). Hurlescjiic with its l)l()nde attri-
butes kept the country in a rage for man}' }'ears, and
the reason why it is so rare now is that comic opera
and the minor musical attractions of the quasi legiti-
mate stage have usur[)ed its princii)al feature — the leg
show — and under tin; cover of art ijet the ijatronairo
of p(.'o[)le who would shun bnrlcsfpies, and at the same
tinu! supply the dennuul of al)ont three-fourths of the
male persuasion who are as fond of as much anatojny
in pink tights as the law will allow them. If any one
thinks th(^ ballet is on the decay Just let him wait
until such an attraction !■< announced in his neighbor-
hood and then stand back and count as the bald-headed
brigade goes to the front.
THE REHEARSAL. 239
And for those who take any interest in the ballet, or
care to hear anything about the women who have
become famous as dancers, the following bit of his-
tory which I found in Gleason's Pictoral for 1854 will
be very agreeable reading : "A recent performance at
her majesty's theatre in London has been signalized by
an event unparalleled in theatrical annals, and one
which, some two score years hence, may be handed
down to a new generation by garrulous septuagena-
rians as one of the most brilliant reminiscences of days
gone by. The appearance of four such dancers as
Taglioni, Cerito, Carlotta Grisi and Lucile Grahn, on
the same boards and in the same pas, is truly what
the French would call " une solemnite tJieatrale,^^ and
such a one as none of those who beheld it are likely to
witness again. It was therefore as much a matter of
curiosity as of interest, to hurry to the theatre to
witness this spectacle ; but every other feeling was
merited in admiration when the four o-reat dancers
commenced the series of picturesque groupings Avith
which this performance opens. Perhaps a scene was
never witnessed more perfect in all its details. The
greatest of painters, in his loftiest flights, could hardly
have conceived, and certainly never executed, a group
more faultless and more replete with grace and poetry
than that formed by these four danseuses. Taglioni
in the midst, her head thrown backwards, apparently
reclining in the arms of her sister nymphs. Could
such a combination have taken place in the ancient
palmy days of art, the pencil of the painter and the
pen of the poet would have alike been employed to
perpetuate its remembrance. No description can
render the exquisite, and almost ethereal grace of
movement and attitude of these great dancers, and
those Avho have witnessed the scene, may boast of
240 THE REHEARSAL.
having once, at least, seen the perfection of the art of
dancing so little understood. There was no affectation,
uo api)arent exertion or strnggle for effect on the part
of these gifted artistes ; and though they displayed their
utmost resources, there was a simplicity and case, the
ahsencc of which would have completcdy broken the
spell they threw around the scene. Of the details of
this i)crformance it is ditHciilt to speak. In the solo
steps executed by each danseuse, each in turn seamed
to claim pre-eminence. Where every one in her own
style is perfect, peculiar individual taste alone may
l)alance in favor of one or the other, but the award of
public applause must be equally bestowed ; and the
penc/icnit for the peculiar style, and the admiration for
the dignity, the repose and the exquisite grace which
characterize Taglioni, and the dancer who has so bril-
liantly followed the same track (Lucilc Grahu), did
not prevent the warm appreciation of the charming
archness and twinkling steps of Carlotta Grisi, or the
wonderful Hying leaps and revolving bounds of Cerito.
Though each displayed her utmost powers, the emula-
tion of the fair dancers was unaccompanied by envy.
Every time a shower of boqncts descended on the
conclusion of a solo jjas of one or the other of the fair
ballei'inf, her sister dancers came forward to assist her
in collecting them. The api)lause was universal and
equally distributed. This, however, did not take from
the excitement of the scene. The house, crowded to
the roof, presented a concourse of the most eager faces,
never diverted, for a moment, from the performance ;
and the extraordinary tumult of enthusiastic applause,
joined to the delightful effect of the spectacle pre-
sented, iiiqiarted to tlic whole scene an interest and
excitement that can hardly be imagined by those not
present."
*Siiv:b.*cS/''''*^'^:
* ^^
MARION ELMORE,
CHAPTER XVI.
CANDIDATES FOR SHORT CLOTHES.
About a week before the date of the opening of a
spectacular play at any metropolitan theatre an adver-
tisement reading something like this appears iu the
want columns of the daily papers : —
WANTED — Three hundred girls for the ballet in "The Blue
Huntsman," at Bishop's Theatre. Call at stage-door at
ten A. M. Monday.
In this simple advertisement the theatrical instinct
which prompts the press agent to exaggerate facts con-
cerning his attraction is very beautifully displayed.
The number of girls wanted is probably not in excess
of fifty ; still the local manager does not care to waste
money upon this little advertisement without getting
an advertisement for his show out of it. Monday
morning brings a number of applicants — not as large
a number as such an advertisement would have
attracted in former years, but still enough to meet the
demands of the ballet-master, who has come on ahead
of his troupe to select the girls and give them a little
training, just sufficient training to tone down the rough
edges of their awkwardness and to drill them in the
marches in which they will be expected to participate.
The girls, as they come in singly or in pairs — shyly
and coyly approaching the stage-door, but taking
courao;e at the sight of the others who are there before
them — are told to come around again iu the afternoon,
or perhaps the following morning to meet the ballet.
16 (241)
242 CANDIDATES FOR SHOUT CLOTHKS.
There doesn't seem to be any particular clioicc in cjet-
ting up a l)allet of this kind. A round-shouhUn-ed.
broad-waisted, squint-eyed, rcd-lioaded girl has lier
name entered on the stage manager's book as readily
as the charming little blonde who looks as if she be-
longed to the upper walks of life, and appears many
■degrees more accomplished, graceful, and int(dligent
than the strabismal, carroty-headed creature who has
preceded her. When all have been registere«l, n[) to
the requisite number, some of the astonisluMl and de-
liffhted candidates, after having learned that thcv will
receive $4 or $(), or, maybe, $8, for the week's ser-
viceg, lose themselves in the intricacies of the scenery
and wonder at the beauties of the new worM in wliicU
they find themselves. Their next visit brings them
into the presence of tlie ballet master, M'ho regards
them physically, scrutinizing each as the name is
called, and seldom rejecting any not absolutely de-
formed who appear l)efore him. Tliey are sent to the
costumer's and their work begins at once. All they
are required to do is to run up and down or around the
stage in drills and marches, or to group themselves in
heart-rending tableaux at intervals during the dance.
The best — that is, the girls who are quick to perceive
and swift to accomplish the commands of the master,
are selected for leaders and for the principal Avork in
this subordinate branch of the spectacle. Day after
day they are drilled until the night of the first per-
formance arrives, when, often in tights tliat do not fit
them, in costumes that are wrinkled and dirty, they
flash in all their awkwardness and gloominess upon the
scene, to be laughed at, ajid to detract from instead of
adding to the beauty of the spectacle.
A newspaper writer of experience in this line says:
Few of those who observe and admire the gracefid
CANDIDATES FOR SHORT CLOTHES. 243
attitudes, easy movements, and picturesque evolutions
of the well-trained chorus or l)allct in an opera have
any adequate conception of the amount of practice and
hard work necessary for the stage of perfection arrived
at. A number of years ago, when^jallet girls were in
greater demand than at present, an advertisement in-
serted in New York papers or those of any other large
city for material to fill np the corps de ballet would
bring in applicants by dozens, and sometimes even by
hundreds. The same is true in a less degree to-day,
but at that time the waj^es paid to \vorkin<j: ffirls were
far more meagre than at the present time, and the few
dollars per week to be obtained in the theatre was a
princely sum bv comparison, and, though the engage-
ment be but a few weeks, the opportunity was gladly
accepted.
The great majority of these applicants come from
the lower working class, who are induced by pecuniary
motives alone to exhibit themselves. They show in
their faces and forms theiraces of hard work and poor
living, and an expert master of the ballet has need of
all his skill to train them and dispose them on the stage
so that their natural disadvantages of form may be
kept as much as possible from public view. Now and
then, however, there is a case where the slamour of
the stage has so fascinated girls in better circumstances
that they are ready to begin at any round of the lad-
der in a profession that seems so entirely imbued
with roseate tints. It is the exception, and not the
rule, for these to persevere ; for, when brought face to
face with the stern realities of the case, their ardor is
dampened, the world seems hollow, " their dolls are
stuffed with sawdust," and they are prepared to cry
out vanitas vanitahim, and enjoy the rest of their
stage experiences from the other side of the foot-lights.
244 CANDIDATES FOR SHORT CLOTHES.
These girls vary soiucAvhat in age, but the majority
of tlicm arc not above twenty, as a general rule. In
making an apj)lication, they present themselves first to
the stage manager. He takes note of their age, size,
appearance and general contour of figure, and if he l)o
favorably impressed sends them to the costumer. He,
in his turn, hands them over to the women in his cm-
ploy. There they are compelled to strip and undergo
a complete examination of their limbs and form, and
on the physical examination depends their acceptance
or rejection.
In companies where the ballet girls are simply femak
supernumeraries and do nothing but march about while
the danseuse and coryphees engage the attention of
the audience, any extended amount of training is not
necessary. Care is only taken to obtain girls of ordi-
narily, fair physique and teach them to march correctly
with the nmsic. But even this is no small task.
These girls are naturally fitted for anything but this
business, and it is ludicrous to observe the positions
they assume and the gait they adopt. Impressed with
the idea that they must act and walk dillerently from
their usual custom, they twist their l)odie3 and stalk
about in a manner that is beyond description. These
improvised ballets generally present an exhibition of
stiilhess and awkwardness at the first public appear-
ance ; but that is not to be compared with the ungainly
antics of a first rehearsal. In cases where crreater
pains are taken, and whore the ballet girls go throufh
many intricate evolutions, the rehearsals are continued
daily, when possible, for a period of six or eight weeks,
and some idea of the trials of a ballet master may be
gathered from the contrast of the first rehearsal and
the first performance.
A gentleman of long experience in theatrical mat-
CANDIDATES FOR SHORT CLOTHES.
245
ters says in a talk with an interviewer: "Well, I
should think I ought to know something about ballet
girls. Why, when I used to be at the Old Comique
they were as plentiful as supers and used to appear as
peasant girls in the regular drama.
"The rehearsals would be frightfully confusing to
an outsider. During the last rehearsal, before a piece
of this kind is put on, the stage looks like a perfect
pandemonium. The chorus is being put through its
final drill on
one side, the
actors are
practising
their e n-
trances, ex-
its, and cues
on the other ;
behind, the
scene painter drilling for the chorus.
and his assistants are daubing away, and the trap man
and gas man are both working away in their line."
*' What kind of girls were they for the most part? "
♦* Oh, they came out of factories and all that ; they
could make from $6 to $8 a week on the stage, a good
deal better than they could do at their old business.
We used to have such a lot of applicants then we could
pick out a pretty good crowd. Some of them were
very nice, respectable girls, but the associations ruined
most of them. A good many of them were rather fly
when they first came in, and besides being crooked
would put on any amount of lug among their compan-
ions outside. After playing in the ballet two or three
weeks for $6 or $7 a week, they would go around and
say that they were actresses, playing an engagement
at the Opera House, but they didn't know exactly
24G CANDIDATES FOll SIIOHT CLOTHES.
how long they shoukl stay there. I wouldn't bo at all
surprised if they talked about starring it in another
season ; that's wiiat all these lly-by-nights at the
theatres do now. Why, do you know I have had peo-
ple come to me and ask what part Miss So-and-So was
taking, and on looking into the matter I would find
that she was a ballet girl."
'* Can't you tell me of some cases of girls who have
a little romance about their history? "
" Well, possibly, but to one behind the scenes there
is little enough of the romantic, I can tell you. I re-
menil)er another case of a girl, one of the prettiest and
best behaved we had — quite a modest little thing, in
fact. But she got picked up by a middle-aged rake,
and went to the bad. I do not know her whole story,
but I know she used to meet this fellow after the [)uv-
formancc very often. After a time she stated in con-
fidence to one of her companions that she was married
to him, and I have no doui)t that she thought she was.
She left the theatre after a few weeks and went to live
with him. But I guess it didn't last long, for I saw
her several years afterwards in one of the lowest trav-
elling com[)anics I know of, as vile and broken-down a
wreck as you ever saw. If there is any romance in the
lives of these girls, this is generally the style of it."
" Do these girls ever rise in the profession?"
" Oh, yes, some of oni- best actresses rise from the
rank-. It wouM make a cat laugh, though, to seethe
first time they have a little speaking part in a regular
drama. A girl can get along all right as long as her
individuality is concealed in the; ranks, but when she
has to step to the front and say a few words, she
waltzes up as though she was walking on eggs. She
looks as if she would like; to fall through the stage,
CANDIDATES FOR SHORT CLOTHES. 247
swallows and hesitates, and puts you in doubt as to
whether you ought to hiugh or pity her."
Here is a writer who takes another view of the
affiiir: " To the uninitiated male citizen the period of
supreme interest in aflairs behind the scenes is the
period of a grand ballet or spectacular show, where a
hundred or two girls, who have undergone an exami-
nation of their faces, shoulders and limbs, and been
accepted as presentable upon the stage, don tights and
make their bow to the public. It is not always easy
to secure the required number of girls who have the
requisite qualifications for an appearance in tights.
Girls who have never been on are extremely bashful
about making their first appearance. The majority of
the girls who answer the call for * ladies for the bal-
let ' are shop girls., girls who take work to their
homes, girls suddenly thrown out of employment,
poor girls who have no other way of honestly earning
a dollar. There are a few who have been in the bal-
let a number of times before. They have come to look
upon it very much as a business. They knit and sew
and crochet and do fancy-work behind the scenes dur-
ing the stage waits. Their pay is liberal compared
with what they can earn even in ways that are consid-
ered more respectable, and they have the novelty and
excitement, which, of course, are something of an at-
traction in themselves. Considerable judgment has to
be exercised in the selection of those who aspire to the
costume of a pair of tights and trunks or a gauze
dress. It is a lamentable fact that all ladies are not
plump and symmetrical, and for those lacking these
charms there is no door to the ballet stage. Once ac-
cepted as a constituent part of a pageant which is to
disport itself before the foot-lights, the Jignrante has a
wide field for conquest open to her. It's man's weak-
248
CANDIDATES FOR SHOUT CLOTHES.
; 'tm
ncss to l)c forever ' jTfcttiiii:: iroMc ' on tlie fiivorites of
the foot-lights, to believe them till beiuitiful :uul luscious
as thej seem from the front of the house. And so it is
thiit the watchman at the stage-door and call-boys divide
between them many a dollar for carrying in billet-doux
from the great army of mashed masculines. 'Another
sucker dead gone,' mutters the call-boy as he pockets
_^___ his liberal fee as mail-carrier.
UK RIGS Perhaps the fair object of the
masher's admiration ' won't
have it,' but there arc among
her sisters those who, to a
promisingly liberal and attrac-
tive stranger, would not let the
lack of an introduction stand in
the way of their graciousness.
' 'Sh,' they say to the call-boy.
' 'Sh ! Don't say a word. Tell
him we'll see him later. Look
for us at the stage-door when
our act is over.' "
And now let us sec how they
do these things in France,
where the cancan flourishes and
the Jardin Mal)illc, with its
high kickers, is the temple to-
wards which pleasure-seeking pilgrims bend when they
visit their Mecca — La Belle Paris. A visitor to the
dancing green-room of tiu^ Grand Opera, there, will
find that at night it is brilliantly lighted, and the ef-
fect of the gas-jets is greatly increased l)y the numer-
ous larjre mirrors which almost conceal the walls. In
front of each of these mirrors stands a wooden post a
little higher than one's waist, and bcfon; a dancing girl
sets off, she raises one foot after the other until she
THK " SUCKER
CANDIDATES FOR SHORT CLOTHES. 249
places it horizontally on one of these posts, where she
keeps it for some time, then quitting this position and
taking hold of the post with one hand she practices all
her steps, and after having in this way " set herself
off," she waters the floor with a handsome watering-
pot, and before the large mirrors, which reach down to
the mop-board, she goes through all the steps she is
about to dance on the stage. The leading dancing
girlscommonly wear old pumps and small linen gaiters,
very loose, in order to avoid soiling their stockings or
stocking-net. When the call-boy gives his first notice,
they hasten to throw off their gaiters and put on new
pumps, chosen for their softness and suppleness,
whose seams they have carefully stitched beforehand.
The call-boy appears at the door, " Mesdemoiselles,
now's your time ! the curtain is up ! " and the flock of
dancing; o-irls hasten to the stao^e. Amono^the Parisian
ballet corps one sees the strangest vicissitudes of for-
tune, the most wonderful ups and downs of life.
Some, who yesterday were glad to receive the meanest
charity of their comrades, who joyfully accepted old
dancing pumps, and wore them for shoes, and faded
bonnets and thrice-mended clothes, appear to-day in
lace, silks, cashmeres, with coachman, valet, carriage
and pair. The sufferings, the privations, the ftitigue,
and the courage of these poor girls ere the miserable
worm, the chrysalis, is metamorphosed into the brilliant
butterfly, cannot be conceived. Bread and water sup-
port the life*of more than half of them ; many would
be glad to feel sure of it regularly twice a day. A
great number who live three or four miles from the
Grand Opera trudge that distance almost shoeless to
their morning dancing lesson, rehearsals, and evening
performances, and on their return home, long after
midnight, in the summer's rains and the winter's
250 CANDIDATES FOR SHORT CLOTHES.
snows, nothing ])noys them np hut the fond liopc,
often delusive, that the future has ii I)iighter and bet-
ter time in store for them.
The Nautcli dancers, mentioned in the preceding
chapter, are consecrated to the temple from chiklhood,
and the graceful and fascinating poses to which the
people of this, country have been introduced by an en-
terprising American, are portions of their sacred dances
before the shrines of their dizzy deities. I think four
of these jiirls came to this countrv oriixinallv, and all
but one died. Still, there were forty so-called Nantch
dancers put upon the variety stage and in specialty
troupes, ordinary but clever American ballet girls
being painted for the occasion, and dressed in a semi-
oriental costume. They made no pretensions to do
the Nautch dance, in which the swaying of the body,
keeping time with the feet, and howling a lugubrious
hymn are the features, there being no hopi)ing or
whirling around ; but the fraudulent Kautch girls of
the specialty troupes pirouetted and pranced in the
steps of the old-time l)allet, with which we all ought to
be familiar if wo are not.
CHAPTER XVII.
TRAINING BALLET DANCERS.
" Well, now, I don't think that's so awful hard,"
said a fellow knight of the pencil, one evening as we
both leaned upon the rear row of chairs in the old
Theatre Comique at St. Louis, since destroyed by fire,
and bent our heads forward in an inquisitive look at
the ballet of " The Fairy Fountain," or something of
that sort. The remark was meant to apply to the
evolutions of the premiere as she spun around on one
toe and threw a graceful limb up toivards the roof of
the house every time she gave a whirl.
" If you don't," said I, "you just try it once, and
you'll find out exactly how hard it is?"
I had made this retort wildly and without knowing,
myself, anything much about the difficulties of ballet
dancino;. It dawned on me that here was an excellent
field for inquiry, so having obtained the permission of
Manager W. C. Mitchell, who was running the
Comique, to go behind the scenes to interview the bal-
let master ; next evening found me early at the stage
door. I was soon inside picking ray way through the
labyrinth of scenery, stage properties, scene shifters,
supers, actors and people generally who crowd and
jostle each other in this mimic world, and I was in im-
minent danger every now and then of an impromptu
debut before the public, and of finding myself stand-
ing figuratively on my head before an unappreciative
audience. At last the ballet master — Sig. J. F. Car-
(251)
"o-
252 TUAINIXa BALLET DANCERS.
dclla, a thin, wiiy man who sccincd to be in tlic decline
of life — was found in his tights, leaning in an easy
attitude airainst one of the " winijs."
^'■Bona sera, Sifjnor,^^ I said in the best Italian I
could muster.
'■'■ Gvazia,^^ returned the mailre in the most welcom-
ing manner in the world, as he invited me to a qui(!l
corner where we sat down on a cracker-box.
The object of the visit was briefly ex[)lained, and
Sig. Cardella rattled off his answers in a ready and
intelliirible manner, the sweet Italian accents falling
from his tongue with the same rapidity and precision
that he twinkled his feet in the ballet when occasion
required. He said he had made his first appearance in
the ballet twenty years before, when he was twenty
years of age. IIo had been put in training, like other
children, at the age of twelve years, in the Theatre La
Scala — the government school — which has given
the world so many famous dancers. Here he remained
eiirht vears.
♦' Children," said Cardella, " are admitted to this
school as early as ten years and as late as twelve,
and there is a regular routine of study that cannot be
finished in less than eight years. It is long and ardu-
ous, and especially difficult when it is understood that
pupils in this cC)untry arrive at stage honors in an im-
mensely less time, in fact in as many months as we arc
required to put in years of study in the old country."
" I sup[)oso La Scala is under the tuition of the
very best masters," said I.
" Oh yes, indeed," responded the maitre de ballet,
assuringly ; " my fiist teacher was the celebrated
l)lo/,is, and al'ter him ( )usse, both French, and both
great masters."
" But old?"
TRAINING BALLET DANCERS.
253
<(
Yes, old ; but they had their stage triumphs, and
the recollection of these kept theii* limbs strong and
DONNA JULIAS' EYES.
their joints almost as supple as they had been in their
younger years, when they themselves went forth from
25i TRAINING BALLET DANCERS.
La Scala as premieres, to win the a])i)laus(> of the
public."
" l^ovs ami jrirls are admit tod to La Scala? "
"Boys and i^ii-ls ; ])iit all must pass a i)liysical
examination just as applicants for army service are
required to flo. If they are fortunate in haviiiu- hccn
endowed by nature with health and symmetry of form
they arc received into the school and enter at once
upon its rigorous course of training. Oh, I tell you a
ballet school is not the same here as it is in the old
country. There must be perfect silence ; not a word
from the moment the master appears before the line
of pupils, and after that nothing but the motions of
the hundred or more bodies and the beating of the
master's stick upon the floor."
" IIow long must they practice each day? "
*' Well, ])efore they are supposed to enter the
academy at all, they must have had one or two years'
practice outside. In the acadcn)y they have four
hours' practice under the direction of the master
ever}' day ; but many of them do more work than this,
especially the most ambitious. I used to practice from
'eight to twelve hours daily, and even after having left
the academy I kept u\) my daih' exercise for increas-
ing the limberness of the joints and the toughness of
the cartilages. The more practice, the nearer per-
fection."
r>L""Mnoso the pupils arc divided into classes, aro
they not?"
*♦ Yes ; we have four lines of dancers in Italy. You
have only three here. Wo place our coryphees farth-
crcst ofTfrom the premiere ; you put them alongside.
The beginners at La Scala go into the coryphee class,
from which they are gradually advanced to the
secunda Una, then to the prima Una, ami, after-
(255)
OBERON AND TITANIA.
Oberon: — What thou see'st when thou dost wake
Do it for thy true love take.
Midsummer Night's Dream, Act, II., Scene 3.
25G TRAINING BALLET DANCERS.
wjirds, to solo parts, wlicn they practically become
premieres."
" But ci<^ht years," I suggested, " is a long time to
be working without any return in the shape of either
money or glor}'? "
"Ah, there you are mistaken," Cardella answered,
pleased to find that newspaper men sometimes make
mistakes. " Tiie pui)ils at La Scala are paid some-
thing from the time they enter the academy. They
first, while mere cor^'phecs, get thirty francs a month ;
in the second line, sixty francs; in the third, eighty;
and when advanced to solo parts, two hundred francs
a month. At this they stop until they finish their
schooling, when- they take places in the principal
theatres, make the usual tour of the provinces and
of the continent, and finally settle down, if tlioy have
not become fainous, to some solid competency, just as
I have done myself."
" So much for the dancing boys and girls of Italy ;
but how about the Iwdlet in this country?"
*' Oh, it is nothing like Avhat Europe produces.
You have no schools here except the theatres, and girls
when they come to learn the ballet, as they have often
came to me, ask : ' Do you tiiink I can dance in a
week or two? ' It is absurd the way they want to do.
"Why, in my country I practised for eight years before
I would be allowed to appear i)ublicly in the theatre,
and had 'practised two years before that at home, and
yet these American girls think they can become good
dancers in a week or two."
" What do you say to such applicants?"
" I say, ' No, you can't dance in a week or two,
nor in a month or two ; but if you want to practice for
several months I can place you on the stage.' And I
say this because I know American girls can make good
TRAINING BALLET DANCERS.
257
dancers if they are in earnest and apply themselves
hard ; they can make passable ballet girls even if they
give only a fair share of their attention to the study."
" What do you think of the American ballet?"
MEASURING FOR THE COSTUME.
" It cannot be good, of -course, as long as the public
does not give it the attention and patronage it requires
to make it good. In the old country the ballet is
everything ; in this it is comparatively nothing. They
17
258 TUAININO IJALLET DANCERS.
make it sul).scrvicnt to everything else oii tiie stage.
Managers do not care to pay for good troiii)cs, and tho
tronpes arc eonsccpiently small and poor."
*' But is there not plenty of employment for good
ballet dancers?"
"Always. Each company has few that can bo
ranked as soloists, and this is because sfood dancers are
not numerous. As I have sugirostcd before, the
American girl is not sufficiently ambitious in this line ;
their stage yearnings are mostly for speaking parts on
tho dramatic stage, and they arc not very devout wor-
shippers at tho shrine of Terpsichore."
" How are American ballet girls paid? "
*' Pretty well ; but nothing like what they got before
the war. ]\Iadame Gallati, Avho was my wife, l)eforo
the rebellion, never got less than $150 a week, and
after the war was paid $100. Premieres now do not
get more than $75, and they are in very good luck
when they get that nmch. The coryphees and others
get from $35 a week down as low as $15. And out of
this they must furnish their own wardrobes. They
must lay out from $5 a week upwards for their stage
clothes, and when a ballet is on that requires rich
dressing the wardrol)es may exceed their whole week's
salary ; but then, you know, they can prepare for an
emergency of this kind by laying l)y a portion of the
salary of the weeks in which no new ballet is brought
out. Some of the ballets run lor a month, but tho
usual run is two weeks."
*' The maitre does not always dance? "
'* No, he dances very seldom ; but he earns his
money though. lie is kept busy two or three hours
every day, Sunday included, teaching the old and
young ideas of th(^ ballet, how to shoot out their
limbs, pose, pirouette, etc. It requires all tlu; time
TRAINING BALLET DANCERS. 259
I can give to it to prepare a new ballet. Just as soon
as a new one is put on the stage I begin to train the
girls in another one, and this training is kept up until
the day before the novelty is to be presented to the
public. During this time of preparation I have tiie
entire troupe on the stage two hours every morning,
except matinee days, when, of course, there is no re-
hearsal. I show them the steps and they have to
practice them. They are supposed to practice some at
home, but, of course, the majority of them never do
so."
" Have you many applicants now-a-days? "
"Not very many. Once in a while a girl or two
will apply, but nearly all of them are unworthy in
point of physique to be received, and so are sent away.
I do not care so much for nice features, for the ugliest
can be embellished sufficiently to look handsome be-
fore the foot-lights but good forms are indispensable,
and particularly strong, symmetrical limbs. The ap-
plicants come from all grades and classes of life, and
not a few are young girls of good but obscure connec-
tion, who have ambition to win glory and money and
all that sort of thing from the public, and who fondly
imagine that the ballet girl lives a butterfly existence,
instead of being the hardworking, temptation-beset
creature that she really is."
"And they all want to get on the stage in a very
short time? "
" Yes, the invariable question is, ' Can I dance in a
few weeks?' and then they want me to show them the
< steps ' and to let them try to duplicate them. I tell
them there is no use ; if they want to dance they must,
as the Irishman says, begin at the beginning. You
can't know music without learning the notes ; you
can't read without knowing the ABC; and so with
<^s^>^-
_/ ■ ■ .-^
j:
%"-:
h
.' f
J
(2GU) M. J;. cuKTib, IN sam'l of ro&ExN.
TRAINING BALLET DANCERS. 2G1
the ])allet, you can't dance without first having acquired,
its alphabet."
*' How do you generally start a pupil out? "
" They have got to go to what we call the 'sideboard'
practice first ; that is, they must take hold of something
for a rest, and go through the first five steps " — and
here the maitre got up from the cracker-box, and taking
hold of a " wing," placed his feet heel to heel, turned
them out straiii:ht without bending the knees into an
unsightly attitude, and said this was the first ste^j ; the
four others Avere much the same as the attitudes taken
at difierent times by elocutionists, one foot being pushed
forward and then another. " Then I show them how
to do this," andhebeo:an twistins; one les; after another
backward and forward until I thought he would twist
both off, but he didn't. "After that," continued Sig.
Cardella, " which in this country takes about a month,
but in La Scala takes six months, I begin to show
them a step or two at a time, and gradually lead them
up until they know a little."
*' But now and then we see a very fresh and green
foot, if I may use the expression, on the stage."
" Oh, of course ; we've got to make up a fair num-
ber for a troupe sometimes, and I then allow a girl to
go on, whom I think smart enough not to make a fool
of herself. You see although the American ffirl is
smart and sharp, and pretty original in many other
things, she is entirely imitative in dancing. She
watches the other girls, and although she may not even
be fairly grounded in the fundamental principles of
ballet dancing, she frequently faces an audience and
does well — sometimes astonishiiiorlv well in fact. Some
of these girls climb up out of the ranks very fast ; others
who are lazy and give too much time to flirting and
drinking wine, remain in the same line, usually the last,
202
TRAINING BALLET DANCEUS.
for j^ears, luul iire really in a ballet master's way all the
time."
" How are ballet girls as a class? "
" Some of them," said Cardella, with a shake of his
head and an expression of i)ity on his face, " are a little
fond and foolish at times."
"And they have their admirers who bother them, in
and out of the theatre, and send them pretty presents,
big boqucts and such ? ' '
A I'lIEMIKUK ]5I:F()KK 'IIIIO AUDIKNCE.
"Oh well, now, I kn(;w very little about that. Some
of them have families to support, and manage to wear
l)etter clothes and more jewelry than th(!ir salaries
could pay for. I could tell you lots of funny incidents
about ballet girls, billet-doux and ]V\]\y boys, but you
see that nigger act is nearly through, and I've got to
go and look after my girls." And with an "-AdiOf
Siqnorr' and a wave of his hand, he withdrew.
TRAINING BALLET DANCERS. 263
I went up to the Alcazar on Monday night to see
Bonfanti dance. I have a great respect for Bonfanti.
She is a woman of character. When she first danced
here the town was wild about her, and one young man,
the son of rich and proud parents, offered her his
hand in marriage. She hesitated for awhile, but he
argued that because he was rich and his parents proud
was no reason that he should be made unhappy by her
refusal to marry him. She thought it over and came
to the conclusion that he was right. So Mile. Bon-
fanti became Mrs. Hoffman forthwith. The hue and
cry raised by the Hoffmans was so violent that the
young man could not stand it, and took his wife to
Europe. His family allowed him little or no money,
and he, having been very unpractically educated, could
find no means of support. He was delicate and he fell
ill and died. Then Bonfanti, or Mrs. Hofi'man, came
to New York to claim her rights as the wife of the
son and heir of the Hoffmans, but they behaved in
a way that wounded her pride — for ballet dancers as
well as Hoffmans have pride — and she declined to
accept any aid from them whatever. "As long as I
have my feet to dance with," she said, " I can take
care of myself, and I want none of their money." So
she went back to the ballet, and has been dancing ever
since. 1 couldn't help thinking as 1 looked at her the
other night, that scions of proud New York families
had often made worse matches. She has a good and
still handsome face, and she dances as gracefully as
ever. She is modest even when pointing at the foot-
li«>-hts with one toe and at the chandelier with the other.
Bonfanti is not one of the grinning dancers. Her face
wears a rather sad expression, and she only smiles in
acknowledgment of the applause of the audience.
The competition with Lepri makes her do her best,
and it is a regular dancing mutcu every night.
CHAPTER XVIII.
PLAYS AND I'LAY WHIG UTS.
At seven o'clock one morning during the season of
1881-2 a tall, jjawkv, anixular-lookin": young man in a
suit of smutty aiul wrinldod gray, under a battered
sloucli hat with a l)andit curl to its wide brim, stood at
the door of one of the rooms of the Southern Hotel in
St. Louis. He had a big bundle under his ai-ni, and
seemed tired, as indeed he was, for he had climbed four
pairs of stairs and walked the lower hall-ways from one
end to the other looking for the room which he had now
found. He knocked kindly at first, but got no answer ;
knocked again with the same result, and again and
again. The fifth time somebody said " Come in,'!
and the young man twisted the knob and in a moment
was standing at the bedside of the late Oscar G. Ber-
nard, business manager of the Couldock-Ellslcr Hazel
Kirke Company. Bernard was still in bed and very
sleepy.
** I've got a play I want to read to you," said the
young man, shifting the bundle he had under his arm
down into his hands, wMiero ^Ir. Bernard could sec it.
*»A what?" the manager exclaimed, rising hinriedly
upon his elbow and looking out through drowsy eye-
lids at a pile of foolscap manuscript big enough to fill
a French Cyclopedia.
"A phiv," was the visitor's answer, in a quiet, un-
alarnx'd tone.
( 2<M )
PLAYS AND PLAYWllIGHTS. 265
*' Is that it? " Bernard asked, as he eyed the pack-
age of manuscript with astonishment.
*' Yes, sir ; there are only 439 pages."
"Oh, is that all? How many characters, scenes,
and acts, and how long do you think it would take to
play it? " asked the manager, trying to be as sarcastic
as possible.
" There are forty-seven characters in the dramatis
personce,''^ the playwright ans^v«red, nothing daunted,
" nine acts, and it mio;ht take three hours or more to
play it through."
*' How many people get killed in it? "
*' Only thirteen."
*' Oh, pshaw ! " said the manager ; " go and kill off
thirty more of 'em and then you will have a play worth
talking about. You've got to kill somebody off every
five minutes to make it stick. You needn't leave any
more of them alive than just enough to group into a
happy tableau at the end of the last act."
" I don't think I can do it," said the playwright.
" Oh, yes, you can," the manager insisted. " Just
try it once ; and here, take this pass and go and see
' Hazel Kirke ' to-night. It plays only until eleven
o'clock, and we don't think it quite long enough. If
you could tone your play down so that we might use
it for a kind of prologue or something of that sort it
would be better."
The young man took the pass and departed. He
was the queerest dramatist the country and century have
produced, except possibly A. C. Gunter. He was fully
six feet high, large and sharp-featured, with a light
like lunacy dazzling in his black eyes and across his
sallow face. His hands were large and his feet big, and
as he ambled along the hotel hall he looked like an
over-grown plowboy who had suddenly and mysteri-
2C>C) TLAYS AND PLArU'iaOIITS.
ouslj turned book-pocKllcr. Besides all this he scenicd
very hungry.
Early the next morning he was at Bernard's l)ed-sidc
again. He had seen ♦' Hazel Kirke," and thought over
the manager's advice, but had not made the chansres
suggested because he was of the opinion now more
than ever that the play would suit Mr. Bernard.
Would the manager allow him to read it out to him?
Its title was *' Love and the Grave." The manairer
said he might leave the manuscript to bo looked over
during the day, but the dramatist said he preferred to
read it so that none of the good points would be lost.
Then the manager told him to call again. He called
airain carlv the next morniuir. The manaucr was still
too busy and too sleepy to hear the play. The dram-
atist said he hated to i)art from his manuscript ; he had
been live years writing the play, but he liked Mr.
Bernard and would leave it with him for twenty-four
hours. The manairer suirirestcd that there was a pos-
sibility of the play being lost if the hotel were to take
lire, but the young man answered that he had ascer-
tained that the hotel was fire-proof, and he was willing
to take the chances. He went away leaving the vol-
uminous manuscri])t in the manager's possession. Of
course Bernard didn't read it, but when the dramatist
returned Friday morning he told him it was very good,
and if the dramatist cared he could give him a letter
to the manager of a Chinese theatre in San Francisco,
who would l)e glad to purchase and produce such a play.
The dramatist hoisted his maimscript under his arm,
said he was sorry the Madison Sfjuare people couldn't
use it, and went out hungrier-looking and more awkward
than ever. Bernard hoped that it was the last of him.
But it was not. AVhile Bernard was in John T.
Raymond's room the following afternoon a knock was
PLAYS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. 267
heard at the door and in walked the dramatist. He
did not recognize Mr. Bernard but told Raymond in
piteous tones that the man he (Raymond) had recom-
mended him to would not allow him to read the play,
and didn't want it. A light flashed upon Bernard.
Raymond laughed heartily. Bernard did not laugh.
It was one of the comedian's practical jokes. He had
sent the Illinois dramatist to the " Hazel Kirke " man-
ager with positive instructions to insist upon reading
the Chinese play to him. After the comedian had had
his laugh, he pulled a nickel with a hole in it out of
his pocket, and, turning to the playwright, said : —
"I'll tell you what I'll do. "I'll match you for
the play. If I win I take the manuscript. If you win
you take the nickel."
The dramatist was disgusted. He said all he wanted
was money enough to get back to Springfield, 111.,
where he edited a daily paper. If he had that he would
be happy. Bernard and Raymond each gave him a
$5 bill and sent him on his way rejoicing.
The trials and tribulations of the gawky young dra-
matist from the Sucker State is but a slightly exagger-
ated and caricaturish recital of the difficulties that have
been lying in the path of American dramatists ever
since we made anything like an attempt at a distinc-
tively national dramatic literature. It has been all
along, pretty much the same with the young American
who wrote a play as it was with the seedy English
authors of Sheridan's time. Fresh from his garret,
and as hungry for fame and fortune as he was badly in
need of a meal, the young man who had written a
drama appeared in shabby-genteel attire at the door of
the manager's office, and after introducing himself,
handed over his manuscript, which was tossed into a
drawer or box, while the poor author, trembling with
2(j8 plays and playwrights.
agilution, was told to return iii :i week or luontli. You
may ])c sure the clays ami nii^hts were nervously passed
until the appointed time rolled around. Then, bright
and early, still hopeful and still hungry, the author
was at tlie manager's door.
" "Well, sir, what do you wish? " was the abrupt and
startling greeting accorded the author.
" I suppose you have read my play " —
«' What play?"
The author names it and the manager sternly says :
*' No, sir, I haven't read it and know nothing about it.
When did you leave it here? "
*'A month ai^o, sir."
" Well I don't think it would do jnc any good to
read it. I haven't either the time or the inclination.
If you want it search in that box, and if you can't find
your own you can take your choice of any of those in
there."
This was, of course, a crusher. The young author
moved away with a bleeding heart, and liis armful of
manuscript, and the stage to which his hopes and am-
bition had been attracted proba])ly never ollered him
an opportunity to have his play damned on a first
night. American draunitists are to-day pretty much
in the same plight in regard to American managers
and the American stage. Very few of our dramatic
authors have received proper recognition, and few who
have toiled at writing and dramatizing for years have
much fame or money to show for their Avork. Ameri-
can managers have a rage for foreign works, and just
now are pouring thousands of dollars into the jxx-kets
of English and French playwriglits, whose woi-k is by
no means superior to that to be found in Ihe home
market. Some years ago that vci-y successfid phiy of
"The Two Orphajis " was purchased by an American
I'LAYa AND PLAYWUIGHTS. 269
from its French author for :i mere song. Now,^ Sar-
dou gets $10,000 for a phiy like " Odette," which has
so far, I believe, failed to bring that amount back to
Mr. French, the purchaser. Samuel Colville paid
Messrs. Pcttitt & Merritt, of London, an enormous
sum for the melodrama of " The World," which, how-
ever, made $75,000 for him. Messrs. Brooks &
Dickson bought " Romany Rye," an untried play,
from Sims, for America, paying him $10,000 cash;
Colville paid a high price for "Taken from Life,"
and D'Oyley Carte planks down $12,000 to Mr. Sims
for a drama, before a line of it is written, and sells the
American right to Lester WalliKjk on the same terms.
All the American actors, actresses and manasfers
nowadaj^s want foreign plays and are willing to
pay exorbitant prices for everything that is offered.
On the other hand it is the exception when an Ameri-
can playwright does well, or indeed when his work is ac-
cepted at all. Some few late successes this side of
the water have set all the ambitious young men of play-
writing proclivities to work. One day it will be an-
nounced that John McCullough has bought a tragedy
from a rising journalist, and next day all the journal-
ists will be writing plays for him. So, too, with Ray-
mond, and Mary Anderson, and a score of others.
But, few writers among journalists succeed in dramatic
work. Robert G. Morris, of the New York Telegram,
is among the latest successes with his " Old Shipmates,"
and probably one of the greatest is Bartley Campbell,
who sprang into fame in a night, after plodding
patiently and poorly paid for years. Fred. Marsden,
who writes Lotta's plays, is also among the fortuuatd^
having, according to report, during his career made
something like $70,000.
Bartley Campbell may be taken as an excellent ex-
270 PLAYS AND PLAYWRIGHTS.
jimplc of the nianiK'r in whicli the American dramatist
works, and the almost dcspairinp; circumstances attend-
ing his long and weary chase of fortune. He is a man
with a history. That history he made himself. From
an office boy he has risen to a place of honor. Not
that the position of office boy is dishonorable, but very
few who begin life in that sphere ever attain as high a
place as that now enjoyed by the greatest of our
American dramatists. He was born at Pittsburg,
Pennsylvania, some thirty-seven years ago, and as
soon as he graduated from the lap of infancy he en-
tered a lawyer's office with the view of studying for
the bar. But the reading of hiw he soon discovered
was not at all to his liking, and he was declared an un-
promising student, being too poetic and sentimental.
His next move was to the office of the Pittsburs
Leader, where he himself says he received the munifi-
cent salary of $5 a week for the hardest work he has
ever done. Here is another illustration of the old
saying, that when you have failed at everything else
make up your mind to adopt the profession of actor or
journalist. Young Campbell chose the latter. He
preferred the stationary drudgery of a newspaper Bo-
hemian's existence to the wandering chance-life of the
equally hard worked, and, at that tinie, poorly paid
actor, liy diligence and close api)lication to study he
rose rapidl}', and soon was entrusted with the responsi-
ble i)osition of dramatic critic. He must have been a
good one. It is said that he was a faithful critic ; so
faithful, indeed, as to warrant the chastisement of a
bad actor, and endanger the publication of flic i)apcr
with libel suits. He deserted the Leader and com-
menced })ublishing the Mail, and it is hci-c, while edit-
ing this journal, that he first attempted play-writing.
His early effort was the sensational drama called
PLAYS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. 271
" Throuirh the Fire," broiiuht out in 1871 ; then fol-
lowed the comedy, "Peril," produced in 1872; the
third WHS, "Fate," which was subsequently purchased
by Miss Carlotta Leclerq, who played it with much
success for several years; then followed, "Risks,"
now the property of John T. Raymond, and, in swift
succession, the mill ground out "The Virginian,"
" On the Rhine," " Gran Uale," " The Big Bonanza,"
which, it will be remembered, was one of the successes
of 1875. "A Heroine in Rags," "How Women
Love" (later known as "The Heart of the Sierras,"
and still later as " The Vigilantes "), "Clio," " Fair-
fax," " My Partner," and lastly, " The Galley Slave."
It was the success of "My Partner" that brought
about the turning-point in Mr. Campbell's fortune.
That he had suflfered the severitv of want, he
confesses liimself in a neat little Christmas story told
by him to a newspaper correspondent, who met him at
the door of Haverly's Theatre, New York, one night
during the run of " The Galley Slave " in the metropo-
lis. His tall figure, his slouch hat, rather dishevelled
hair, twelve-cornered moustache, Prince Albert coat
and disordered necktie looked just as they did when I
first saw their owner some years ago, yvhen his luck
was away down. The statement of the night's re-
ceipts was brought him while we stood there, and his
share was a few dollars more than six hundred.
"House not as good as last night," he said, " within
a couple of dollars. Fact is, the business, although
good, has not been better than it mio;ht be."
" Why, Bartley, you don't quarrel about a couple
of dollars, now you are in the height of success?
What is your income from plays, anyway? "
" I don't growl about a few dollars ; but now is the
time — see ? When you can growl about them do it.
272 PLAYS AND PLATl-AVHIGHTS.
Well, Iin gt'ttinu: on an average $1,500 a week now."
" You'll soon he rich, Bartley."
" Well, I am so accustomed to had luck, perhaps I
may meet some — sec? "
Bartley CamphcU always says "bcc" in an inter-
rogative way without much or any desire for an an-
swer. In a ramhling conversation ahout his varied
career that followed, the drift of the talk got Christ-
mas and poverty mixed, and Bartley told this story of
his early struggles : "I had just gone to New Orleans
with my wife, arriving there just when a newspaper
had susi)ended, and twelve w'riters were, like myself,
seeking journalistic work — only, unlike myself, they
had acquaintances and friends ; I neither ; nor money,
except live cents — see? The row was a hard one.
After various ' shifts ' — one of which was starting the
/Southern ^[agazine, which was hrought out — wo
found ourselves, just before Christmas time, with
nothing of importance except a grocery hill — see? I
wrote a poem about Eddystone Light, and sent it to
the NinetefnlJt Cenlunj, then ])ublished in Charleston,
S. C, by Felix de Fontaine & Co. It was the small
beginning of which the present Nineteenth Century is
the great result — see ? ' '
"Well, I marked on the MS. — jn-ice $15. Com-
mercial poetry — see? We confidently expected that
money before Christmas. Why, Ave took it as a mat-
ter of course that the money must come. Jf it
didn't — well, tiiat was a view of things that wo
couldn't take for a moment — see? Well, the day
before Christmas came, but that money did not. I
visited the post-office again and again that day, but no
letter. The situation was gloomy tiien, and in the
evening I said to my wife, ' I guess I'll have to go to
the grocery, anyway.' ' I wouldn't go, Bart,' she
PLAYS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. 273
said ; ' I am afraid he'll say something about the ac-
count.' 'I can't help it — I am going, anyhow,' I
answered, and grabbed the basket and rushed out,
for fear that my wife's fears would deter me from
going at all — see? He didn't say anything about the
account, and I ordered sparingly. When he got the
things all in the basket, he slipped in with them a
bottle of nice liquor, and he said: " Now, Mr. Camp-
bell, this is Christmas Eve.' I went home, and I
drank some of the liquor, and when we w^ent to bed
things looked a little brighter. I got up in the morn-
ing, and they were gloomy again — see? I started
down to the post-office, my wife saying it was a fruit-
less errand, and got there just before the Christmas
rule of closing at 10 a. m. shut down the delivery
window. The clerk ran through every letter, and
when he had got to the last one, and as I half turned
to leave, he threw me down a letter which bore the
date mark ' Charleston.' I opened it, and there was
a check for $15. My legs couldn't carry me home
fast enough. I got there, and my wife met me, her
face all aglow. 'Well, Bart,' she said. 'Well,' I
said, and I felt that she had heard the news — that
some one had told her my check had come, for to me
it was the biggest piece of news ever was, and that it
was common talk was perfectly natural. ' Bartley, I
have got flO,' she cried. 'And I have got $15,' I
yelled ; and she, not noticing it, went on, 'I sold the
war book about women, that nobody Avould buy be-
fore, to some people who wanted it. Now, don't be
extravagant, Bartley, please. We had a bottle of
champagne that day, and presently I got the position
of official reporter of the Legislature at $16 a week; but
Christmas time never comes that I do not wonder if I
18
274 I'LAVS AM) rLAVW!;l(;ilTS.
■vs'ill have as merry and h:ippy ;i d:iy as the one we
celebrated in New Orleans just after the war."
In view of what has been said about the abnost mer-
ciless treatment the American dramatist, as a general
rule, receives from the American theatrical manager,
it may be well to add here the statement made lately
by Mr. William Seymour, stage manager of the Madi-
son Square Theatre, New York. He exhil)ited to a
visitor a drawerful of manuscripts, and said, although
he had read and rejected one hundred and fifty plays
within nine months, he still had almost as many more
left. As a usual thing the plays offered Avere, he
claimed, weak imitations of" Hazel Kirke " and kin-
dred plays, or wretched translations from the German
or French. One or two were very original attempts.
Picking up a heavy manuscript bound with blue ril)-
bon, and looking very like a young girl's graduating
essay or poem, Mr. Seymour said : Here is a play in
seven acts, which opens in America at some large sea-
port town, the author isn't particular where, and an
embarkation scene ends the first act. In the second
the ship has made its Avay in toward the Arctic regions
and is wrecked l)y an iceberg. The hero bravely cuts
down a spar, lashes himself to it and jumps overboard.
In the third act he is discovered ni)()n an ice-
berg beyond the Arctic circle, starving and almost
dead, while in the distance a battle is in progress be-
tween a pirate ship and Chinese junk. The China-
men are destroyed, and in the fourth act the hero
is rescued from the icel)erg. A marine encounter
between Chinamen and pirates in the Arctic Ocean is
l)ad enf)Ugh, but even this is outdone in tlM- liftli act,
where the hero is discovered upon a ti'opical island
with his feet frostl)itt('n. The rcinainiiig two acts are
Used to get him bade to America, whirli is (jniic in full
PLAYS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. 275
accordance with the rest of the play. I have many
others just as bad. Here is one with fifty-two speak-
ing characters, and here is anotheV in four acts, which
would require but twenty-nine minutes to play the
whole thino^ throuo-h. But strange and curious as the
j)lays are, I think that the letters I receive from the
authors are still greater curiosities. Occasionally
some of them are modest enough to admit the possi-
bility of failure, but as a general thing they do not
hesitate to dwell upon the beauties of their productions
and the certainties of success. Moreover, they are al-
ways ready to make terms and some of their offers
are very amusing. Here is one that will serve as a
sample : —
"Dear Sir: The undersio-ned is the Author of a
new three act Drama it is romantic, Dramatic and
Scenic, and has a good plot. The Story is interesting.
The dialogue is bright and Witty, the unities of the plot
are preserved, and the Situations Are Picturesque and
effective. I have had it nicely copied.
"And wish to sell it to you if you wish to become
the Proprietor of my play.
" Terms, I will sell you My copyright and Manu-
script, And Give you 100 Printed copies, for the use
of actors, for $1000 dols.
" The name of My Play is
" Charles Ryan.
" The scenes are in Italy, Time 1868.
" Yours, Very Respectfully, etc., etc., etc.,
"Author.
"P. S. — I inclose my card, I don't be at Home
•every day, but am at home nearly every evening bet.
8 and 10 o'clock.
" (I did not have my Play Printed yet.) "
CIIAPTEK XIX.
"mashers" and "mashing.
The maslier is a remarka])lc creature. Ho hovers
everywhere, from the inarkot-phioe to tlic meeting-
house and from the iiromenade to the theatre. Ho is
many-phased and many-faced, and nlay come from the
slums or be the son of a first-class preacher of tiic Gos-
pel. The class has been termed gunaikophagists by
some follow reck-
less alike of the
feelings of i)hilo-
loixists and of the
jaws of the rising
generation, who
says it means wo-
man-caters, but
may be less poly-
syllabically styled
corner loafers and
miseral)lc scoun-
drels, who live on
the curbs and in
some instances
hug the wall — have a pardonable affection, con-
sidering that they part their hair in tli<^ mid-
dle, for malacca, ])amboo, and rubber sticks —
and last, but not least, some indulge a pre-
cocious vanity by planting eye-glasses across their
noses. These are, par excellence, the cane-and-eye-
(27G) ♦
a bowery '* masher.
MASIIEES AND MASKING. 277
glass friends, arid they remind one of nothing else in
the world than a sickly looking cross between a
saw-buck and a half-resuscitated dried herring. The
masher's solo ambition, is to win hearts, which he hopes
to do by staring ladies out of countenance, and which
he often does in a most flagrant and audacious manner.
There are young and old of this class, and they are of
all grades, from the young man who negotiates with
you over a counter for a paper of pins or a dozen shoe-
strings, up to his employer, and fi'om that up the
monetary scale to the man who wholesales the em-
ployer tiic pins which the "mashing" salesman dis-
poses of a nickle's worth at a time. Sandwiched
between these at proper, or rather improper, intervals
are the "What d'ye soy?" crowd, the "toughs"
wearing high felt hats turned up with care before and
behind, and, without exception, sporting the inevitable
tight jeans breeches. Their influence extends only to
a certain class — to the concert and variety dives — and
it is unfortunate to the poor girls, outside of this class,
who fall a prey to these ruthless " mashers."
The theatre appears to possess loadstone qualities
for the masher ; it is as attractive to them as the flame
of the candle is for the moth or the flower for the bee.
I have already in a preceding chapter said a great deal
about the " mashing " that is done in the audience by
both male and female exponents of the disreputable
art. I shall now confine myself to the " mashers " in
the profession and those who try to " mash " the pro-
fession. Some young gentlemen with more money
than brains imaofine that actresses have nothino: else
to do but receive attentions from the opposite sex, and
that there is no " wall of China " around the virtue of
any woman on the stage. They therefore not only make
bold to talk freely about actresses, but are valiant
278 MASHERS AND MASIIINO.
enough to try to ensnare them by letters abounding in
LADY MACIJKTH.
Lahv Maciiktii: — "Inllnii of piiriioHcl
Give me the <lafr>fcrH; the plccpinjr, find llir <lcaa
Aro but as iiirtiin-s: 'lis llic cy«! of cliildliooil
That Jcara aimiuictl <Icvil."
Macbeth, Art J I., Scene 2.
hyperbole and odorcscent of cologne-besprent idiocy.
MASHERS AND MASHING. 279
The variety actress is the ideal prize of this class, and
they are in their greatest glory when within the frolic-
some precincts of the wine-room. I have seen many a
young man whose hair was parted in the middle crow
lustily over the successful capture of a ballet girl, when
he himself had been the capture. These girls know
what their charms are worth and hold them at that
price, when they see a victim well dressed and with
an apparently healthy pocket-book. They, in expres-
sive but slangy language^ lay for him. They are not
foolish enough to invite him to their side ; they allow
him to make an apparent conquest which guarantees
them all the greater gain. The young gentleman of
whom I speak was lured in this way ; and as she sat
with well-rounded limbs pulsating through silken tights
and gracefully thrown upon an opposite chair, and he
leant over her whispering soft words and looking
fondly upon her painted face, while they clinked cham-
pagne glasses, she with downcast eyes was playing
innocence, but all the while congratulating herself upon
the arch manner in which she had won him.
Just as bad as the female " masher " on the stage
is the female " masher " who has no claims on the
profession. The latter has studied her art perfectly,
that it may assist her in throwing her net about the
unsophisticated. Females of this class in the East
make it their business to frequent the matiness, where
witt the assistance of the ushers, whom they remu-
nerate handsomely for their co-operation, they gather a
cfrano-er in, and within twelve hours or so send him
bome whining at his idiocy in not having resisted the
temptation that left him penniless. The gay sirens
who are in this business generally go in pairs. The
usher locates them next to their victim, and once there
they've got him for all the cash he took out of the
MASHERS AND MASHING. ^Sl
family sock before leaving Jerusha and liis eight little
ones.
The blonde beauties of the leg drama, or the fair
burlesquers, as some people call them, are considered
legitimate prey by the " mashing ' ' fraternity. Indeed
it is often a case of diamond cut diamond, for the bur-
lesquers are themselves notoriously liberal in making
acquaintances, and the majority of them will accept a
midnight drive or a morning supper as readily as they
do the friendship of the gentleman who tenders them.
The bewildering array of limbs and shapely forms, the
golden hair and apparently fresh and handsome faces
set the young swells wild, and the rnsh for orchestra
chairs down front where a quiet flirtation can be car-
ried on shows the great extent of rivalry that exists
among their number. Any number of scented notes
on rose-tinted paper find their way through the stage-
door into the hands of the giddy throng behind the
scenes, and as they glance through it they laugh at
the foolishness of the writer but agree to " work him "
to the full extent of his wealth. The comedian who
knows that the girls have got *' another sucker on a
string" comes up and wants to see the last " letter
from home." He gives the girls a funny bit of advice
about retaining their innocence if they would be happy,
but adds that if there is anvthing in the fellow, to
" catch on " at once — which of course the girls have
already made up their minds to do.
A veteran in the business says : "Actresses have the
most marked talents for wheedling the gilded youth
out of money. Such ' guys ' and ' gillies ' fancy that
if they are known as the patrons and friends of stage
stars all the world is staring at them and envying
their conquests. Poor idiots, their entire conquest
consists in that they make over their own common
282
MASriKRS AND MASHING.
lUOM ONE OF THE "MASHED."
sense I 'Jlio .silly ninny rcjoicinjj: in the .sliowy and jirt-
ful woman's f:ivors counts hini.self a privileged mortal,
hut his chief ])rivilcge in regard to a cunning, sehcm-
MASHERS AND MASHING. 283
ing stage siren is the privilege of pcayiug her bills. Of
the men with money she makes fools. When she
scents a full pocket-book she runs it low. Her affec-
tion, so far as she has any to bestow, is probably lav-
ished on a big animal of a loafer from whom she gets
no money, and who, perhaps, beats her and makes her
support hira. It is a paradox of feminine nature that
the women who are unscrupulous and heartless in
wheedling men of money seem so lavishly free in be-
stowing favors and bounty on loaferish lovers, from
whom they can make nothing. An actress is psychi-
cally a study, always curious and unaccountable, how-
ever talented.'
Some comic opera choruses, particularly those of the
limb-exhibiting kind, have attained to almost equal
notoriety with the burlesquers in the *' mashing" line.
The fact of the matter is that in the branches of the
profession where women are employed, not for their
artistic qualities, but on account of the plumpness of
their limbs and the a<2:reeableness of their entire figure
to the male eye, there is so much laxness and so much
that is altogether bad, that the ladies of the hio:her
walks of the profession do not always escape, and the
" masher," who is alwavs ffoiiig around seekinsr what
fair females he may devour, frequently dares to ap-
proach some of the best women in the profession. Here
is a specimen of the work of one of this class ; it is a
letter received by one of the best and handsomest little
ladies the stage ever saw, and whose retirement from the
boards was really a great loss to the dramatic art : —
Exchange Hotel,
Montgomery, Ala.
, 187-. I
I know I am violating the cold conventionalities of
life by addressing you, but if it angers you, the friendly
fire which blazes before you will prove a suitable altar
284 Mashers and masiiixg.
upon wliich you c:iii sacrifice my homage. I never saw
you before to-niirlit, but to see von is to be dazed —
glamoured with a glare. May I dare to hope that I
shall ever stand abashed in your presence, waiting vour
sweet will to raise my eyes to your dear face in adora-
tion ? Tell me that I may follow you through all the
world upon my bended knees, to find at last your
favor, that I may live in hope upon the memory of
your smile, and know that at the last von will be con-
tent to let me kneel at your feet and tind reward in
that alone. Oh, dear heart, let me dream of you until
you awaken. Yours, devoted,
y. II. M.
Can anyljody imagine a more glowing and positive
piece of idiocy? This would-be " masher" should Ix;
taken out in the woods and brained with a five-svllable
adjective that he would not be able to identify in the
next world. Many actresses refuse to receive letters
that are sent to them from stranixc admirers. Marv
Anderson never sees such a letter, although bushels of
them are sent to her. And she is only one of hun-
dreds who adopt the i)olicy of rejecting strange letters
at sight. Frequently nuirried ladies in the profession
are made targets of by the letter-writing l»rigado of
mashers, and more than one hea<l has been aiiisti-
cally mutilated as a retui-n for the " masher's " imper-
tinent pains.
A New York corrcspendcnt writes as follows about
a pretty little actress and singer, who while fullillinf
an engagement at the Bijou Opera House, New York,
last summer, broke the hearts of nil the "swells"
and " bloods" of the metropolis, .iixl li.id the house
filled nightly with rival admirers, among whom was
the melancholy son of a Washington, 1). O., judge :
"Miss Lillian Russell is a beauty without a shadow
(T
o
MASHERS AND MASHING. 285
of doubt. She is about tweuty-six, I believe. It is
by no mecans generally known that she is marrier], and
that her husband is an honest, hard-working, and thor-
ough orchestra leader, to whom she owes her present
proficiency in vocal culture. He was very fond of her,
and alwaj^s believed in her success. No man could
have Avorked more faithfully. Finally he found an
opening for her on the variety stage as a serio-comic —
as the phrase goes — singer. She attracted attention
at once, and he labored vigilantly until he found a
legitimate opening in English comic opera. I believe
it was 'The Snake Charmer.' She was very glad to
get out of the variety rut so soon, and expressed de-
lio-ht at the admiration she excited. Then came the
club-men with their swell slang, gaudy carts and flow-
ing money. Now she is suing her husband for divorce.
Such is life. The husband, I hear, harassed by care,
and perhaps something else, had become so nervous
or inattentive that he lost his position in the orchestra,
and so the shades of prosperity and adversity arc more
clearly defined than ever. Miss Russell seems to have
been under the especial care of a theatrical goddess of
sensationalism. Everj^thing has conspired to make
her name familiar. Her escapade with one of the
young men was inevitable. The only question was
which one she would select. It happened to be
Howard Osborne, the son of the wealthy banker.
One night when it was time for the curtain to rise, and
the audience was o-ettino- into a Avhite heat, the manag-er
came forward displaying a decided desire to swear
like a pirate, and announced that Miss Russell had
suddenly and unwarrantedly run away. The next
morning Mr. Osborne, Sr., wondered where in thun-
der his son was. He received a letter later, and
immediatelv fell into a howling rage. Shortly after-
286 MASHERS AND MASHING.
wards Mr. Howard Osborne was hoard of in Cliican-o,
whence it was blandly stated Miss R. had gone to visit
an aunt. The young man was sent spinning over the
sea to Europe, and the steamer had just arrived when
his fond parent had the exquisite pleasure of rcadino-
at breakfast a cable in the morning papers relatiu"- a
little excursion of a certain Mr. Howard Osborne, Esq.,
said to be of New York, with Miss Alice Burvillc, the
burlesque actress, at the Ascot races. Hcigho !
' Which the ways of the world is peculiar, Mrs. 'Arris,
sezl.'"
A Californian, who reached the Pacific slope in '49
as a peddler, but is now a bachelor millionaire, has
been sued for breach of promise by the walking lady
of a San Francisco theatre, who seems to have elfec-
tually succeeded in "mashing" the old man. Tlio
defendant it is said first saw the plaintiff at a perform-
ance at the theatre where she was euL^aircd. lie
became impressed with her charms and sought an in-
troduction. He gained it and became an assiduous
attendant upon her. Their intimacy, the lady
alleges, ended in a promise of marriage, and she
claims to possess letters in which she is addressed by
those endearing epithets good husbands apply to the
spouses they love. However that may be, the defend-
ant showered bounties on her, both in jewels and
money, for upwards of a year. Then business called
him to his mines in Amador County. Ho was to be
away some weeks, but returned sooner than he had
anticipated. He drove directly to the theatre where
the plaintiff was performing at the time of his arrival
in San Francisco, and got there just in time to see
her walk away with another man. That other
man, moreover, was an actor with whom rumor
had associated her name more than once, thou<rh
MASHERS AND MASHING.
287
she had succeeding in arguing suspicion in the
matter away from the mind of her senile lover.
This time, however, argument failed to do the work
required of it. Detectives employed by the defendant
resulted in the discovery that his gifts and favors had
only served to benefit a younger and more fascinating
man, and he literally as well as metaphorically shook
the dust of his false one's door-mat off his feet forever.
Then followed the suit, which he. calls blackmail, and
she, a demand for justice.
ADELINA PATTI'S "MASH.
Adelina Patti is credited with a strange fascination,
while in New York, the diva havins; succumbed to the
blandishments of a midget. The story is that she saw
a picture of the midget Dudley Foster on exhibition
at Bunnell's museum, and driving down Broadway,
stopped at Bunnell's establishment and asked George
Starr, the wily awd polite manager, for the loan of the
diminutive specimen of humanity. Starr agreed and
the midget was handed into her carriage. " Here is a
288 MASHERS AND MASHING.
pretty toy," gushed the pritna donna, covering the
little creature with kisses. She took him to her hotel
and passed an entire afternoon singing to him and
chattinix. How Kicolini took to the new crank of his
sinking bird is not stated. Mr. Foster plumes himself
J. H. HAVEIILY.
consideral)Iy on the fact that he has done what princes
have tried in vain — cutout Nicolini — and he boasts,
too, tiiat the prima donna before she would let him go
made him promise to call on lier the following week.
Actors have their ♦* mashes" too, the same as ac-
tresses, and tht gentlemen who own flexible voices, and
MASHERS AND IMASHING. 289
flourish them through all the glorious variations of
operatic music, seem to be most successful in captivat-
ing the fair and susceptible sex. " It is hard to under-
stand why it is," says a Chicago newspaper, "but
somehow, while girls recognize the powder and paint,
the blonde wigs and penciled brows of a prima donna
as so nuich make-up, they refuse to analyze the charms
of a tenor, and his grease, paint, luxuriant locks, and
graceful mustache are admired as his very own. A
case in point was that of a young lady whose father is
well known on the Chicago Stock Exchange. She was
violently smitten with Campanini, and used to send
him no end of beautifully written missives, and every
night a bouquet of red roses. The letters especially
attracted the attention of the tenor because they were
written in smoothly flowing Italian, and evidently by
some one who was more romantic than fast or wild.
There was little trouble in finding out the fair corres-
pondent, and Mme. Campanini, who has a good and
lovely soul, sent a note to the young lady and asked
her to call. It is needless to say the hitter's delight-
ful delusions were quickly dispelled before the domes-
tic life of the silver-toned tenor and the kindly advice
of his good wife.
The extent to which these serio-comic love affiiirs
are carried on is enormous, and sometimes the parties
show an amusing ingenuity in their correspondence.-
Del Puente once went nearly wild with ungratified
curiosity through the pranks of a mischievous school
girl, who was perpetually sending him love letters, in
which she declared she never missed a single night
when he sung, and that when he left New York on his
tour with Her Majesty's Company she should follow
him and be present at every performance. Sure
enough, in every cit}'^ where he sang he received a
19
2'JO MASlIEliS AND MAblUNG.
pretty note of congratulation, with the iisuiil informa-
tion that the Avriter — dressed, as usual, in blu k —
^vas present. Of course, there were always a nninher
of young and })retty women in this sonihie hue, but
which Avas his correspondent Del Puentc never could
decide. The letters were always post-marked with tiie
name of the city he happened to be in, and finally he
became really nervous with the idea of an unknown
woman following him in this shadowy fashion. His
curiosity was not destined to be satisfied until long
afterward, when he found that the fair unknown, clev-
erly following the i)ublished route, would send a
stamjicd but undirected letter to the postmaster of the
city he ha[)pened to bo in, with a request that he would
ascertain the singer's address and forward it. As long
as the letter was stamped this was sure to be done, and
the tenor never failed to receive the missive.
A case of basso-infatuation was that of a daughter
of an ex-Senator, still prominent in "Washington cir-
cles, who used to spend all her pin-money in buying
presents and baskets of flowers, Avhich she sent to
Conley. In some mysterious way her father received
a hint of it, and the young lady was sent to the
Georijetown convent, where she was educated for a
couple of years by way of i)unishment. She probal)ly
dill not know that Conley was married. Poor fellow,
he was drowned last .summer.
Castle, though neither so young nor so charming as
ho once was, still receives loads of gushing epistles,
which Mrs. Castle demurely twists into cigar lighters ;
and Pjrignoli says, " I haf teachcd missel f /.e Inglis
language with these liddle letters."
In Chicago there resides a wealthy and charming
young married lady who entertains handsomely, and is
well known in society, but who distracts her elderly
MASHERS AND MASHING. 291
husband by a mania for making the acquaintance of
evciy new male singer of note, and entertaining him
with the greatest elegance and expense. Of course a
majority of these affairs are entered into either in the
spirit of romance or mischief, but in either case it is
apt to result disastrously, and the world has a cruelly
uncomfortably way of stamping them with another and
harsher name.
Having noticed that there was a stain on the lips of
the portrait of Campanini the tenor, hanging in the
lobby of the Academy of Music, New York, a visitor
called an attendant's attention to it and advised him to
wipe it off. "Why, bless you," said the attendant, " we
do so every day. That's where the girls kiss it. That
picture makes as many mashes as Campy himself, and
if he was kissed half as often his lips would be quite
worn away. Lord what fools women are, to be sure ! "
The visitor waited long enough to see a well-dressed
and handsome young lady approach and kiss the pic-
ture. At least he says he saw it.
There is also a humorous side to this "mashinof"
business. Men and boys who run after actresses gen-
erally get themselves into trouble, particularly is this
the case with old men — men old enou2:h to be think-
ing of the designs for their tombstones instead of
running around variety theatres hugging girls and lav-
ishing champagne and beer upon them. An old sinner
of this stamp got into trouble in a New York theatre
one day. He made himself conspicuous and obnoxious
at a rehearsal by stumbling over the stao:e and ffettino-
in everybody's way. The supes cursed him and the
stage carpenter called down anathemas on his aged
head, but the old fellow was indifferent, for he was
basking in the smiles of a well-known soubrette and
was happy. Finally he posed in the centre of the sta2:e
202
MASHERS AND MASFIINO.
jnstas an 'Miiterior " was to be set. The scene shifters
saw lie was in a good position to he squeezed, and they
quietly shoved the scenes together. The lover, intent
-^V MONTtKY SPOILINfJ A "MASH.
on his inamorata, discovered his predicament only when
cauglit, hut the scene shifters were deaf to his cries,
and he was held a prisoner. He was only released on
MASHERS AND MASHING. 293
swearing never again to poke liis nose inside the stage-
door, and furnishing enough to treat the boys. When
at hist he was free, he made hasty tracks for the exit,
and was heard to mutter as he went out, he'd be d — d
if he wanted to be squeezed again, even by his charm-
ing soubrette.
The bald-headed men, though, get it worse than any-
body else, and particularly so when their bald heads
are hidden under wigs. A monkey had a part to play
in a piece running at one of the metropolitan variety
theatres. There was a pretty burlesque actress play-
ing there at the same time and she had a host of admir-
ers with more money than brains. Among the num-
ber was an addle-pated old rascal, who preferred the
society of the " artiste " to that of his aged wife, who
had lost the charms which enraptured his fancy when
he led her years ago as a blushing bride to the altar.
One evening the fellow bribed the door-keeper at the
stage entrance to admit him to that realm of dirt, paint,
and faded tinsel *' behind the scenes," and he stationed
himself in the winirs in order to welcome his charmer
when she retired amid the plaudits of the audience.
But alas, the '< bqst laid plans of mice and men gang
aft aglee." The monkey espied him, and at once fell
in love with the glossy wig which covered the bald
head. Swinging itself down from the flies the monkey
made a swoop with its long arm and the masher was
scalped. He cried lustily, but the monkey made off
with its trophy and the masher sloped with a hand-
kerchief tied over hi?5 head.
«
Almost similar was the fate of a bewigged Parisian
who was loafing and " mashing " behind the scenes of
the Grand Opera. A dancer stood in the wings listen-
ing to the prattle of a silly old man. He was protest-
ing heartily his love for the young lady, and was on
294 MASHERS AXD MASFIING.
tlie ]K)int of kissinic her hand, when, as lie stooped
down, she snatched his wMij from his head. At tliat
moment she had to appear on the stage, and did so
amid huighter and apphiiise ; for she carried with her
tlic old fellow's scalp as if by way of trophy. The
applause Avas less loud, hut much more humorous on
the stage ; for the gay old lover and his bald head had
to stand a deal of quizzing from those who, like him-
self, were in the wings waiting for their " little dears "
to return.
Since the establishment of garden theatres for the
summer months, in nearly all the large cities of the
Union, the " masher" finds am[)le field for the kind of
sport he indulges in. A girl in red tights created a great
commotion among the swell mashers who frequented
Uhrig's Cave, 8t. Louis, during the summer of 1881,
and in that connection there could have been revela-
tions that would carry grief into a few homes and bring
disgrace upon not young and irresponsible men, but
upon prominent citizens who were foolish enough to be
fascinated by the crimson symmetricals. The frater-
nity have a peculiar way of working a summer garden.
The phalanx of mashers begin operations early in the
evening. They get to the garden before the lamps are
lit, and dust some of the chairs with their coat-tails and
pantaloons. They watch the singers as they enter and
endeavor to catch some suggestion from them that a
mash has hccn eflccted. Now and then a soft, gazelle-
like glance or a sweet, girlish simper, like the smile on
a sick monkey's under lip, gives a token of slight
recognition, and then the masher's heart and eye are
full of gladness. When the curtain is rung \\\) and the
glare turned on, tlu>- " mashers " move in a body
towards the front of the stage and dust some more of
the chairs. Then they fhx their eyes like so many
MASHERS AND MASHING.
295
lances upon the girls and again attempt to impale
hearts. After the performance they move in a double
line to the side arsle of the garden, and, opening
ranks, wait for the actresses to come out. When
the actresses do come out they are
oblio-ed to run a £::auntlet that would
put any but a cast - iron woman
with a heavy veil on to the reddest
blush. Sometimes a "masher"
accomplishes his aim in life and cap-
tures a girl, but it is seldom. The
professional poser has too wide a
reputation and his figure is as clear
a "give-away" as the cigar-sign
Indian's, so that a reputable young
lady who cares anything about con-
tinuing to be respected and esteem-
ed by her friends is obdurate to
the glances, the moustache, the
smiles, the white hat, light pant-
aloons, bamboo canes, and cheap
button-hole bouquets —
AMBLELEG.
See p. 296.
The Saturday matinee young man,
The five-cent-cigai- young man,
The sweetly susceptible, somewhat disrep'table,
Gaze-and-admire-me young man.
And so it goes on every night. Music and " mash-
so charmingly dovetail themselves to the enter-
tainment that there is as much amusement in looking
up one as in listening to the other.
ms:
CHAPTER XX.
THE MAIDEN AND THE TENOR.
Mr. Troubadour Ambleleg was a tenor. He waved
his light voice for a light salary in the chorus of an
unexpensive opera company that made the summer
months of 1881 and the opera air of the West End of
St. Louis melodious to a sometimes quite harassing
degree. His soul was as full of art as liis throat was
of music. He doted upon the beautiful wherever he
came in contact with it, and frequentljs when he heard
of beauty lying around in languid looseness in any
direction, he went out of his way to find it. It was in
this manner he became acquainted with Miss Silica
Justaytine. She was the belle of an uppcrly upper
circle, a glowing, brown-eyed maiden, with sun-kissed
hair, and the sweetest smiles that ever played in Polar-
light style over the ruffs and ruchings of an expensive
toilet. Indeed, an aurora borealis of fjlintiufr cood
nature shone upon the horizon of her lips, and a
single glance of her eye was worth more trf a man in
love than the advent of a sprinkling cart to a traveller
perishing of thirst on a dry and burning desert.
When Mr. Amidelcg saw Miss Justaytine, that pink of
beauty and perfection of belleship, gracing a front
bench, Avhcrc the susceptil)le tenor was nightly airing
his voice at a salary of ten dollars a week, their eyes '
met and their loves at once intertwined. Like Tecetl,
tho daughter of Montcztuna, Avho found in the yellow-
haired warrior, Alvarado, the lover she had dreamt of
(206)
THE MAIDEN AND THE TENOR. » 297
long before the prow of the "fair god's" vessel
touched the shores of Mexico, the super-aesthetical
maiden of my story saw in the chorus singer the
affinity for which she had long looked and sighed.
Mr. Ambleleg, too, at once became aware that in Miss
Justaytine he had met his fate. They smiled, and
sighed, and ogled, and encouraged each other across
the foot-1 lights. The chorus sinsrer foro;ot all the other
maiden beauty that flourished under* the foliage, and
there were crushed and trampled hearts lying in the
chasm across which Ambleleg and Miss Justaytine ex-
chano:ed their affections. But Ambleleg did not mind
it. He had learned that Miss Justaytine was the queen
of her circle, and he determined to share her crown
with her. Now, Ambleleg was not wealthy ; neither
was he rich in prepossessing features. His teeth were
freckled, his mouth was big, his forehead small, his
eyes expressionless, his hair of a buttery yellow, his
moustache vapid, his shirt calico, and usually required
to do long service without washing, while his general
appearance was not extravagantly pleasant, and cer-
tainly not over-abundant in that grace and ease for
which pretty girls have, at all times, a fondness.
Therefore, it was surprising that Miss Silica Justaytine
fell in love with the chorus-singing tenor. But she
did so, and, it seems, fell so deeply into admiration of
himself and his voice, that* she could not have done
better had she made the start, in falling, from the top
of a seven-story house. When love is once kindled in
the glow of a pair of admiring eyes, look out for a
conflagration in the neighborhood of the pericardium.
Night after night, as the moon washed the tree tops
with waves of silver, and the leaves rustled their whis-
pers to each other. Miss Silica Justaytine sat in the
front row, either joining with the chorus of eesthetic
298 THE MAIDEN AND THE TENOR.
nuiidcns in " Patience " in singing to her own ideal
BuntJiorne, —
Turn, oh turn in this direction,
Shed, oh shed a gentle smile ;
• With a glance of sad perfection
My poor fainting heart beguile!
On such cj'es as maidens cherish
Let thy fond adorer gaze.
Or incontinently perish
In their all-consuming rays.
Or followino: Bettina throu<z;li the mazes of the
" Mascotte " gobble song, while she had a Pippn of
her own in mind all the time. Ambleleg noticed this
growing allectioii, and sang all the louder, and all the
wilder, to the great endangcrnientof the performances.
At last Miss Silica Jiistaytine left him a token of her
love — a soft, white rose, which she kissed and })laced
in her chair as she departed one evening. Ambleleg
cleared the stajje at a I)()und, secured the cream v
flower, pressed it to his li[)s and over his calico shirt
bosom, after which he carefully stowed it away in a
pocket-book with his wash and board-bills. The follow-
ing day Miss Silica Justaytine was toying with a
$10,000 necklace in the bay window of her palatial resi-
dence on Pinafore Avenue, when the postman handed
her a letter in a yellow envelope. It was from Amble-
leg. She blushed as she looked at it, then opened and
read it, smiled and floated gracefully up to an escritoire,
where she indited a charming little note on pink mono-
gram i)aper with heavy gold edges, and placed it in one
of the nattiest and most scrumptious envelopes you ever
saw. Ambleleg read that note that very night to a
group of wide-eyed and open-mouthed chorus singers.
It invited him to call on Miss .Fustaytine the next day.
The call was made. Miss Silica Justaytine received
Ambleleg at the front door, and led him to the magni-
ficent parlor as gracif)usly as if he were a prince.
THE MAIDEN AND THE TENOR. 299
<' My Pippor' she cried, as she flung her arms
around his neck, and almost knocked over the piano
stool.
♦' My Bettinaf sighed the tenor, as he pressed her
to his glowing bosom.
After the first agony of meeting they sat down and
told the stories of their love. Cruel f\ite had dealt
harshly with both. One w^as already engaged to be
married ; the other would not begin to have a ghost
of a show at monogamy if wives were to be had at ten
cents a dozen. Miss Justaytine was betrothed to Mr.
Praymore, a young man who had hopes of coming into
a fortune some day or other, providing he survived
the parent who accumulated it. Mr. Ambleleg was
impecunious ; still she said she could scrape up enough
to buy him a suit of clothes and a box of tooth-powder,
and then they might fly together as far as East St.
Louis anyhow. Miss Justaytine was to become a wan-
derino- minstrel's bride. She took the $5,000 diamond
engagement ring Mr. Praymore had given her, from
her finger, and put on a $2 imitation amethyst that
the chorus singer gave her. What simple, pure, and
unselfish love.
But the course of true love is as rough as the rocky
roads in Dublin. Not content with wandering under
his inamorata's window every night wasting his breath
in whistling Sullivan's music to pieces, while Bettina
opened the shutters of the third-story window and
softly sang, —
For I mi-hy turkey's love,
to which Pippo melodiously responded, —
And I my shee-eep love.
After which there was a mixture of " gobble, gobble,
fjobble," and " ba-a-a-ahs." Not content with this
innocent and artistic way of amusing himself while he
300 THE MAIDEN AND THE TENOR.
kept i)Ooplo awake for blocks iirouiul, Ambleleg very
indiscreetly boasted of his success, and exhibited Miss
Silica Justaytine's notes and photoirraphs to indiscrim-
inate crowds. One day he met Mr. Prayniore and a
prize-lighting brother of Miss Justaytine in the street.
This brother had done yoeman's service in the 24-
foot ring, and required but slight provocation to
disturb the claret in a nose so inviting as that which
decorated the middle of Mr. Aml)leleg's face. By the
free use of whiskey punches these young men finally
inveigled Ambleleg into a deep and dark cellar where
they proceeded to toucii him up with fists and feet
that he might not be able to identify himself again.
After materially spoiling his appearance, they made
themselves presents of the photographs and letters
which they found in his possession, gave him a few
parting touches, and then went away to prepare an
ofiicial statement of their side of the ca.se. Ambleleo-
o
now had no more use for the Justaytine mansion, or
the Justaytine beauty, so he made up his mind to heal
his heart and his bruises with a $10,000 balm. For
this purpose he went into court. Miss Silica had
winged herself away to the Rosebud Sulphur Springs,
and was not aware of the fame herself and her chorus
singer were achieving at home. Aml)leleg hired him
two lawyers to plead his cause, and then there was a
great uproar all over the country. The papers busied
themselves al)out the matter very much, and impu-
dently published all the details that they could get
hold of. (^uitc natural it was that when Miss Silica
Justaytine arrived at the Rosebud Sulphur Springs,
the fashionable and celebrated beauties there should
be so jealous of her triumj)!! over a chorus singer, that
they were sparing of their attentions and cutting in
their remarks. Some of the same envious ones had had
THE MAIDEN AND THE TENOR. 301
food for gossip a season or two before over Miss Silica
Justaytiue's capture of a $15,000,000 ex-Prcsideiital
candidate. That a woman should range all the way
from a Presidential candidate to a chorus singer, was
unusual and interesting. So unpleasant did the gos-
siping souls at Kosebud Sulphur Springs make it for
Miss Silica Justaytine, that she hastened back to the
more congenial atmosphere of her home on Pinafore
Avenue. In the meantime, her prize-fighting brother
and Mr. Praymore had, with the same courage that
impelled them to decoy Mr. Ambleleg into a cellar,
and beat him, and draw a Gatling gun on him, fallen
down on their knees before Miss Silica Justaytine and
asked her to plead their cause. She consented, and by
a swift-footed courier sent Ambleles; a messajje accom-
panied by the talismanic words, "Pzp/)o" and
"Amethyst." He stopped smoking a five-cent cigar
and rushed out to the Justaytine mansion like a fire-
engine pursued by an insurance man. His lawyer
seized his coat-tail and followed, the two arrivins;
there out of breath, the one bent on money, the other
called by the sweet voice of love.
''Oh, Pippol" .
"Oh, Bettina!''
This was the salutation that fell from the two lovers
as their eyes melted into each other.
''Pippo, you have sued my prize-fighting brother
and my ostensible lover for $10,000. They are short
of cash just now and cannot conveniently pay. Please
cut down the amount just a little bit, dear Pippo.
For the sake of this amethyst (shows him the ring) I
beg of you cut it down," said she.
"I'll cut it down, Bettina^'''' he said, '• but I do it
only for your sweet dear sake."
"How much?" she asked.
302 THE MAIDEN AND TIIK TENOR.
"All I want," he answered, "is enoni:;h to huy a
silver watch, a new snit of clothes, pay my hoard and
wash hill, get me three cigars for ten cents, and take
me home to my mother. I think I can get along with
$500."
" Is that all?" the charminiz; and deli<2;lited creature
inquired.
"Not quite all," put in Auil)lelcg ; " the two law-
yers I have hired cannot he assuaged with less than
$")00. We three — that is, the two lawyers and my-
self— want $.500 a[)iece. Thus you see I cut the
$10,000 down $8,500," and he jammed his thunihs
into the arm-holes of his vest and assumed the attitude
of a man who could lose that amount in a game of
poker every day in the week and never feel the loss.
" Oh, Pippo, you arc so good to reduce so liher-
ally," said Miss Justaytine, and she threw her arms
around his n(jck and kissed him in a wild and irre-
sponsihle way.
Thus the interview ended, and as Ami)lele<r amhled
down the front steps Miss Silica Justaytine sat down
at her i)iano, ecstatically thrummed it and enthusiasti-
cally sang : —
A feather-licaded youii^ man,
A goosey-goosey young man,
An utterly Ic^oncy, much too-sooney,
Swallow-the-biiit young man.
The lawyers suhsequently fixed the matter up among
themselves, and Ambleleg, after getting a few dollars
and a new pair of heavy-soled shoes, struck out nobly
for the home of his mother. When last heard from
he still had a good chorus voice and was helping to
fill in the intervals of comic opera with his low and gen-
tle howl.
• •••«»
CHAPTER XXI.
FISHING FOR FREE PUFFS.
The merchant who has anything to dispose of adver-
tises it, and the most successful men in any line of
business are those Avho are most liberal in the use
of printers' ink. The theatrical fraternity thoroughly
understand this, and their first and foremost idea in
everything they do is to get themselves before the
public, and, if possible, keep themselves there. Their
appreciation of the value of a puff or notice is beauti-
fully set forth in the following funny paragraph which
I found floating around in the newspapers : —
"A Leadville paper stated that a well-known actress
who visited that city went to a saloon after a per-
formance, played poker, got drunk, licked the bar-
tender, and cleaned out the crowd. Of course she was
very indignant and was going to cowhide the editor,
when the amazed journalist explained to her that it
was a first-class pufi" that Avould get her an opening in
society in Leadville. And then she thanked him and
gave him a dozen passes."
Some actors, and some actresses, too, do not care
a cent what the means employed are or what the
printed matter is, so the names are their own and once
more they are before the people. The great majority,
however, while anxious to appear in print as often and
in as many columns as a paper can spare without
throwing out paying advertisements, are very scrupu-
lous about the character of the statements credited to
(303)
o
p.
>'.
>
<
<
o
a:
>
O
CO
''^^M^
FISHING FOR FREE PUFFS. - 305
them or actions spoken of, while all affect to be ntterly
independent of the press and to have no regard what-
ever for the good it can do them, or the harm either.
If they meant what they said they might be set down
as foolish ; but they do not mean anything of the
kind, and the fact that day after day the most out-
rageous stories about professional people go uncon-
troverted, is an indication that not only are they
willing to have such things published, but may have
instigated them themselves.
The only kind of newspaper notice a Thespian might
not court, but which, once printed, would be looked
upon philosophically as so much printers' ink obtained
for nothing — so much advertising had that wasn't
paid for — is such a one as the announcement of the
attempt of a sheriff to lasso Miss Fanny Davenport,
in order that he might be able to hold her long
enouo;h to read a writ of some sort to her.
Different actors and actresses have different ways of
advertising themselves. The interview is a favorite
with some, and often the interview is so arranged that
the player can appear before the newspaper man in
some eccentric attitude that will attract more attention
than all the player could say if he talked for one hun-
dred years. Harry 'Sargent likes a reporter to see
Modjeska, and as the visitor enters he finds the Polish
actress firing across the room with a pistol at a small
target, which she manages to hit every time. Dis-
playing diamonds is another scheme to catch the un-
wary newspaper man. Sending along photographs is
expected to throw an editor into an ecstacy of liberal-
ity out of which he will come with at least a half-col-
umn puff of the pretty creature whose counterpart
presentment has been sent to him. Diamond robberies
20
306 FISHINC Foil TFJKE PUFFS.
arc Avoith at least a coluiiiii. Falling heir to $5,000,-
000 or more will briiiix -"i interview that will l)e worth
almost as much as the Iciracv. In everythiiiii: an
actor or an actress says and does the newspaper will
find something wvirth printing, and in i)rinting it the
pa[)er does exactly what the actor or actress wants —
places him or her before Ihe public. Mme. Janauschek
gets a slight jolt in going down the shaft of a Colorado
mine, and the country is immediately informed that
she has had a narrow escape from death. Minnie
Maddern, a new star who ex[)ects to rival Lotta, is
made a brevet officer of the Continental Guards of
New Oi'leans, and her manager feels assured that the
people of the United States would not sleep well if
they didn't hear about it within twenty-four hours, so
he gets the Associated Press to telegraph it in all direc-
tions, that at least a few lives may be saved. A Bo-
hemian prince presents Emma Thursby, at Prague,
with a pair of nightingales, and about ten lines of
every newspaper this side of the Atlantic are wasted
in making the silly announcement. The souvenir and
ilower " rackets " both carry a certain weight, and the
lithograph that fdls the eye as one gazes into a shoe
store window is a glory that can never fade from the
optic that has even for a second of time dwelt upon it.
Minnie Palmer, if all i-cports l)c Irue, came to the
front some time ago with a new hid I'or a free adver-
tiseraent. She entertained a Louisville (Jowiei'-Jour-
7i«? reporter with a display that must have made the
3'oung man blush. " Our company has got into the
chemise fever," exclaimed Minnie, artlessly, " and
we're trying to see which can make the prettiest one.
I'll show thcni to you," and then, i-ogardlcss of the
helpless man's blushes, she disemboweled a trunk and
buried him beneath an avalanche of snowv underwear.
FISHING FOR FREE PUFFS,
307
Their construction was minutely explained, and then
the conversation naturally led to flannels, which Min-
nie confidentially remarked could not be Worn by
actors because of the risk of colds wheu compelled to
ERNESTI ROSSI.
leave them off*. The theme could scarcely be pursued
further than flannels, and the interview closed with
Minnie's confession that she didn't like to be hii2:2:ed
oo"
on the stage in warm weather. In winter, and unen-
308 FISHING FOR FREE rUFFS.
cumbered by flannels, the operation was not so dis-
tasteful. All of this may seem irrelevant, and having
very little to do with dramatic art, but it made a col-
umn for Minnie all the same.
The Abbott Kiss, invented by John T. McEnnis, a
reporter on the St. Louis Post- Dispatch^ but always
claimed by Jimmy ]\Iorrissey, who was her agent at
the time, traveled everywhere and was printed in
every newspaper from New York to San Francisco.
It had just about played out when in 1881, during the
prevalence of small-pox, Miss Abbott had herself vac-
cinated on one of her lower limbs, and again tiie papers
advertised her. She afterwards acted in the capacity
of interviewer for the St. Louis Globe- Democrat, and
was commissioned to get a talk out of Patti, but spent
all the time she was with the diva in kissing and hug-
ing her, and when she came away from her had noth-
ing to write about. Still Miss Abbott is a hard-work-
ing, gifted, and agreeable little lady, and must be
regarded as the best lyric prima donna America can
boast of.
Speaking about Patti : she came to the United States
under foreign management, and with all her sweetness
and beauty of voice and the greatness of her reputa-
tion, she could do nothing until an American manager
who understood the art of advertising took hold of
her. lie began his work at once by decorating his
theatre in lavish style for her first concert, and com-
pleted his initial triumi)li by causing a crowd of
young fellows to unhitch the horses from Patti's car-
ria^re and run with the vehicle through the streets to
her hotel. The report next day said the amateur
horses were society swells, and so the news went into
every State of the Union. Neilson's carriage was
drairged through the street in the same way once at
FISHING FOR FREE PUFFS. 309
Toronto. Patti got another free " ad." by visiting
Paddy Ryan, the pugilist John Sullivan knocked out
of time, in his training quarters at New Orleans, just
as Bernhardt went to see Eno-lehardt's whale at Bos-
ton for the sake of the advertisement she got.
Just as Schneider kicked herself into the good graces
of the Parisians, Catherine Lewis, of *' Olivette " fame,
managed to *' fling " herself into popularity here. The
Lewis fling in the farandole was known and sought
after everywhere. It was a wild and wayward tossing
of limbs and arms that caught the eye and held the
attention not so much because there Avas anything
artistic in it, but because one expected every minute
to see it grow less and less restrained until it broke
out into something like the reckless indecency of the
cancan. It advertised Catherine Lewis as she has not
been advertised since, and as she probably never will
be again. As the "fling" is not dead yet I will try
to describe it. After the solo and while the first chorus
is being given she moves back with the other dancers,
throwing her arms from right to left and left to right
again, when the dancers came to a standstill. Olivette
is seen posing in a lop-sided, Pisa-like attitude, with
both arms and head inclining to the left. The chorus
is repeated, and as the repetition begins the dancers
turn themselves loose with Olivette in the van.
*' Oho " she sings and swings to the left ; " Oho " to
the right, " Oho" to the left again, when out pops
the left slipper, followed swiftly by the right ditto, and
the toe of the latter foot-covering tumbles over the
horizon of the orchestra leader's head, and there is a
confusion of embroidery and white linen and silk hose
that fills the eye of the man in the parquette with a
flash of joy and causes a warm still wind to roll in a
breezeful way around his cardiacal region. "Oho,"
310 FISHING I OR FREE PUFFS.
*' Oho " aiul " Oho " aG^ain, with more hodv tlirow-
inir, and this time the elevation of the toe of the K-Ct
slipper above the line of vision, just a little higher than
before, followed by three more '* Oho's," and the
quivering of the satin slipper on the right foot high
over the foot-lights and in close range to the man with
iield glasses to his eye."? who is sitting in the first row
of the panjuette. And that's all there is to the faran-
dole — nine swings or throws of the body and three
kicks every time she comes down the staije, the nlti-
tude.of the kick growing with each succeeding ellort
until the last spasmodic, airial evolution of the satin
slipper brings about a display of linen that would do
Tcdit to the lingerie counter of a dry gockls store.
)Hvette has the attention of the entire audience while
this is eroiuiX <>n. She ijoes up and comes down the
rtaire twice, swinizinc: and kicking with an anatomical
riot behind her, every female member of the company
from the chorus girl up to the Countesfi vying with
Olivette in sendini; the farandole ofT with a hurrah and
multii)licity of " flings." When the chorus has come
o an end, there is a bold encore for its repetition, and
away they go again.
Oh! oil! Oh! Oh!
Tlien would they be missinjr,
Surely the girls went round about
So long it took them finding out.
Oh! Oh!' Oh! Oh!
Till something like kissing,
Told us plainly as could be
Where were he and she.
Miss Lewis at one time while in New York was freely
advertised in both meanings of the word, because she
sold tickets for her bciicliL in her room at the hotel,
where all could apply to purchase them.
Maggie Duggan, a young lady until recently compar-
FISIIINa rOU FREE PUFFS.
311
ativcly unknown, has suddenly made herself famous by
nightly kicking her slipper to the top of the Bijou
Theatre, New York. She is a comic opera singer.
SLIPPERS FOR FREE PUFFS.
This is lofty limb work that Mile. Sara, the original
high kicker, might envy.
Emilie Melville, an operatic star of California, in look-
312 FISHING Fon FREE PUFFS.
ing over her stock of presents could think of noth-
ing more suitable or anything that would prove more
acceptable to the dramatic critics of San Francisco and
her friends than to give each one of her slippers. So
she held a reception; and, dressed in Oriental toilet,
she presented each as he came with one of the tiny
silken slippers in which her tootsies used to slumber on
the stage. It was such a novel proceeding that Miss
Mt'lvillegot more gratuitous i)uffing than she could have
paid for with the profits of one of her best seasons.
Henry Mapleson, whom I know has no fear of the
newspaper man, but rather courts his society and wooes
the columns of his paper, made the following ridiculous
statement (to a reporter) concerning the manner in
which he and his wife, Marie Roze, were pestered by
reporters on the road: "They began early in the
morning. When I first opened my bed-room door I
was sure to find one or two outside of it. No detail
was too small for them. They would follow us around
and give scraps of our conversation, and one fellow
even sat iit the same dinner-table Avith us in Kansas
City and printed a list of all the things my wile ate,
making it about five times as long as the truth called
for, and adding such trifles as four oranges, six pieces
of cake, etc. My wife was so angry when this account
appeared in the afternoon paper that avc determined to
have our supper in our room, and, as the landlord would
not consent to that, I bouijht a steak during the even-
ing, and Marie Roze, still dressed as Helen of Trny^
began to cook it over a spirit lamp. Wo were con-
gratulating ourselves that no reporter would know any-
thing about that supper, when a knock was given on
the door. ' Who's there?' I called out. The answer
came l)aok through the keyhole : ' I am a reporter of
the MoniiiKj Buzzardy and I want to know what you
FISHING FOR FRRE PUFFS. 813
had for supper. That Evening Crow fellow got ahead
of me on the dinner, but I'll fetch him on the supper.' "
A story that illustrates, in an exaggerated way,
though, the tricks of the dramatic profession, is told of
a shrewd agent who found himself in Mansfield, Ohio,
with a company on his hands and pursued by bad
business so relentlessly that he began to have doubts
that he would ever see Union Square again. In this
strait he called his never-failing wits to his aid and
devised a plan straightway that led him out of the diffi-
culty, as had happened to him many a time before. He
went to the room of his star — his leading lady — and
knocked. He was admitted. " Why, Sam," said
she, " what do you want at this hour?"
" I want your ear," said he.
*' Oh, is that all," said the leading lady, recovering
from her pallor ; " I thought — but no matter ; go on."
*' You know business is bad," said he.
" Well, I should smile," said the artiste ; *' since I
haven't had any salary for four weeks. What's the
new racket."
*' It's this," said the agent : " If we expect to go out
of this town we've got to do something Napoleonic.
And you've got to do it."
" You forget my sex," said she.
" No, I don't," said he ; " there may be a Napoleon
in petticoats as well as in trousers."
' ' Very well , what is it ? "
" I want to get a column in each of the daily
papers."
*' Well, I guess you'll want it, for all the newspaper
boys know we've got a snide show this time," she
said.
" Well, I guess not, if you'll do what I tell you,"
said the artful ao-ent.
** What is that?" inquired '^e guileless actress.
314 FISHING FOR FREE PUFFS. .
*' You know the railroad bridire outside of town?"
♦' That shaky old wooden structure of patched logs
and sleepers? "
" Yes."
♦♦ Well, what of it?"
*' That bridge will get us roliimns in every paper for
forty miles around."
" You've got 'em, Sam, sure.'
♦' No, I haven't. I'm solid on the biz. Now listen :
I want you to go to-morrow and stand in the middle
of that bridge when the two 2 :20 trains pass each
other going in opposite directions."
" Well, you are fresh. What'U I do that for? "
«« For an 'ad.' "
*' And where will I be when the trains pass? "
. *' Wliy, if you're smart and listen to me, you'll be
clinging to the trestle-work underneath until they pass
over yon, then I'll head on back to the hotel and have
all the reporters come up and interview you, and then
there will be columns published, the house will be
filled that night and we will rake in a heavy stake." '
The actress saw the. point and had the pluck to exe-
cute the project of the agent. She stood on the bridge
at the a{)pointed time. She slirieked in the most
frantic manner. The enj'ineer reversed the en<;ine and
whistled down bi-akcs, ])nt in spite of all the train
passed over her. Tiiere was a great sensation. She
was dragged out from the trestle-work and taken to
the hotel. Tiie papers which would not take the
advertiseuKMit of the show because the manager could
not pay in advance sent reporters to interview the
actress on her narrow escape, and gave columns to the
company. The result was a series of full houses and
the "snides" made a triumi)hant march eastward
on the impetus of the shrewd agent's ♦' g^g-^'
CHAPTER XXII.
THE ACTRESS AND THE INTERVIEWER.
In no other country in the world does the inter-
viewer's profession thrive as in these United States.
From the cabinet minister — na3% the President him-
self— down to the common felon, all at different times
are liable to what is called " the pressure of the pump-
ing process." Some classes naturally like being
interviewed, because all publicity ad(is to their impor-
tance and notoriety. The politicians are a specimen of
this species. Then, again, another class regards the
interview as a legitimate means of advertising and
of attracting public attention to themselves and their
doings. This class specially includes the dramatic pro-
fession. An enterprising manager is always ready to
introduce his star to a journalist. Actresses and prima
donne are to a great degree public personages, and
there is an insatiable desire on the part of individuals
to learn somethins: of the foot-lio;ht favorites when thev
have doffed the stage costume, rubbed off the paint and
powder, and become, as it were, for the time being an
ordinary mortal. Hence, the newspapers have catered
to this popular inquisitiveness, and there is scarcely an
actress or sweet singer of note who has not passed the
ordeal of the interviewing fiend. Mr. Henry W.
Moore, city editor and dramatic critic of the St. Louis
Post- Dispatch, who has done as much interviewing in
this line as any newsj)aper man in the Western country,
(315)
316 THE ACTRESS AND THE INTERVIEWER.
thus records his impressions of the operatic and
dramatic celebrities whom he has met : —
Adelina Patti, the casta diva, always receives the
journalist attired in handsome toilettes. Her marriage
with the jSIarquis de Caux rendered her aristocratic in
manners, and her behavior always has in it a tinge of
noblesse oblige. There is an almost imperceptible
flavor of condescension in her tone, which, while
courteous, is rather formal. Since her separation from
Do Caux, La Marquise has become more accessible,
and both she and Nicolini are almost warm in their
etViisions to journalists.
Christine Nilsson receives the interviewer pleasantly,
but rather dignified in manner. She is somewhat cold
in conversation, but her manners are alwa^'S conrteous.
She talks little.
Etclka Gerster likes the interviewer. At first she
regarded him as an American curiosity, l)ut having
learned his value she began to caress him. Gerster is
not at all so sweet in i)i-ivate life as is generally be-
lieved. The Hungarian prima donna is very passionate
and quick-tempered, and rnles her husband. Dr.
Gardine, with her whims. In the presence of the
journalist she conceals her claws beneath her velvety
hand and is sweetness itself. She talks much, dotes
on America and the American people, and all that sort
of gush. Her dresses are not particularly artistic,
conveying the impression that she is slovenly in this
reirard.
Clara Kellogg submits to an iiilcrview as if it were
a rcgnlar business transaction. Ilcr mother is always
present and will frequently make suggestions. Miss
Kellogg chats pleasantly, bnt she has no warmth in her
manner ami no magnotism in her conversation.
Annie Louise Cary is what the journalists term a
THE ACTRESS AND THE INTERVIEWER. 317
" j"l^y " gii"^' She does not care a whit what she says
or does. She will lausrh and chat as if the interviewer
were an old acquaintance. She greets him with a sjDon-
taneous warmth and familiarity which are pleasant to
him. He may ask the most inquisitive questions and
she will reply with a shrewd smile. Amiable, good-
tempered and lively in disposition, she is a «great
favorite with newspaper men.
Minnie Hauk is impetuosity personified. Minnie
usually has a grievance against her manager, and she
will pour her woes iuto the journalist's ears with re-
markable loquacity. But Miunie has a mother. After
the interviewer is gone Minnie will send him a note or
a messenger requesting him in Heaven's name not to
publish what she said or she would be undone. Yet,
the next time Minnie meets a night of the quill she
reiterates her woes and wrongs with the same impetu-
osity. She is frank to a fault, and confides a good deal in
human nature. Her frankness has involved her several
times in trouble. She is very apt to become unrea-
sonably jealous of any other prima donna in the troujDe,
and thus always keeps the impressario in a state of
nervousness.
Emma Abbott is the gusher par excellence. At the
first glance of the interviewer she rushes towards him,
seizes him with both her hands, is Oh, so, so glad to
see him ! She talks with great rapidity and unceas-
ingly. The scribe to her is an old familiar friend.
She insists on his calling on her, dining with her, etc.,
etc. Her friendliness is overwhelmino;. She loads the
journalist with favors, and almost embraces him in the
ardor of her afiection.
Sarah Bernhardt has all the French warmth and
demonstrativeness. She is witty and vivacious in her
conversation, really likes journalists, and will spend a
whole day with them. She never tires, and is a study
318 THE ACTRESS AND THE INTERVIEWER.
to the newspaper man. She is, however, not insensi-
ble to flattery. Her curiosity about things American
is very keen. Being a delightful entertainer, she was
very popular with the journalistic profession. 'Slio is
fond of inviting thera to breakfast.
Clara Morris is an excellent subject for an interview.
Miss Morris always prepares to receive the representa-
tive of the press in some picturesque attitude or pose.
She has a fine perception of artistic eflcct, and never
loses sight of the fact that it is an interview, and hence
has an eye to what will appear in print. Tn her dis-
course she aims to" be epigrammatic and Avitty ; likes
to be novel and original. Her knowledge is very
varied, and she converses with ease and fluency. Her
face sparkles, and her reception is always extremely
cordial.
Modjeska, otherwise the Countess Bozcnta, is, per-
haps, the best educated actress on the sta<re. She is a
gifted linguist, well read in French, German, and Ejig-
lish literature. She is a charming conversationalist.
In manners she is a perfect lady, without any stage
eccentricities. She is a deliirhtful hostess, and dis-
penses hospitality most gracefully. Her bearing is
courteous but thoroughly friendly, and there is the
im[)rcss of ]a grande dame in her demeanor. She is
partial to canine pets.
Adelaide Neilson captured every journalist who ever
interviewed her. She seemed to bend :ill licr eneriries
to cajjtivate her visitor. Her remarkable beauty was
a powerful aid, and the charm of her manner was irre-
sistible. When necessary, she was almost a man of
business, and transacted her affairs with much abilit3\
Poor Adelaide was too potent a spell for ordinar}' iu-
ten'iewers to withstand, and she always carried her
point.
Mary Anderson is a great talker. I lor mother and
THK ACTRESS AND THE INTERVIEWER. 319
wtep-fiither, Dr. Hamilton Griffin, are usually in at-
tendance at an interview. She is decided in her opin-
ions, and expresses her views fearlessly, but her
remarks are superficial. She is lively and a regular
tom-boy, and hesitates at nothing.
Fanny Davenport, who is noted for her expensive
costumes on the stage, is the reverse in private life.
She is nearly always in a neglige attire and looks some-
what slovenly. Fanny is rather averse to the inter-
viewer, but when she submits she is as charming and
pleasant a hostess as can be imagined. But neverthe-
less she thinks it a decided bore to entertain.
Maggie Mitchell is a whole-souled,, generous woman,
without a spark of affectation. She is frank, pleasant,
and amiable.
Lotta, vivacious Lotta, is very demure in the pres-
ence of her mother and the journalist. She is quite
unlike the Lotta of the stage. Mrs. Crabtree joins in
the conversation, which Lotta carries on in a very sub-
dued* but friendly manner.
Janauschek is firm, solid, and determined in her
convictions. She has strong likes and dislikes. She
talks with much emphasis.
Mrs. D. P. BoAvers is a pleasant lady to visit. She
is quite motherly in her manners. Her conversation
contains much shrewd, caustic depth.
Charlotte Thompson is intellectual. She possesses
what the French call esprit and her conversation is
always enjoyable.
Emma Thursby is an interesting lady. The queen
of the concert-room is vivacious, lively, and talkative.
She is exceedingly fond of representatives of the press.
Marie Roze is only an indifferent entertainer. She
is very fond of pet dogs. The effort is always visible
in her conversation, and the visitor feels that she be-
lieves she is merely doing a necessary duty.
CHAPTER XXIII.
A FEW FOOT-LIGHT FAVORITES.
Little PciTG^Vj afterwards the famous Mistress Wof-
fington, was down at the shores of Liffey drawing
water for her mother, when jMadamo Viohmte, a rope-
walker, met her, and taking a liking to the girl, made
terms with the parents and obtained possession of her.
Madame Violante Vvalkcd the rope with a child tied to
her feet, and lovely little Peggy for a while assisted in
this way at her mistress's entertainments. When the
Madame got to Dublin she found a juvenile company
playing "Cinderella" there, and at once began the
organization of a class of children, who appeared in
the play with Peggy as one of the bright luminaries.
This was her introduction to the stage, which she trod
with such brilliant success in after years. Nor was
she the only one of the famous old English actresses
trained to the drama from childhood. All through
the history of theatricals, from and before Wofhng-
ton's time, children were made participants in the
play, and the seeds planted thus early ripened into
the richest fruit. Until a very recent date it was not
deemed the duty of anybody to interfere with this
kind of trainiuij — not even with the barbarous treat-
ment to which children training for the circus ring
were submitted. Less than a half century ago the
Viennese children went through the country dancing,
and were unmolested by any philanthropically inclined
body or any excessively humane individual. The
(320)
MISS CONNOLLY IN ENCHANTMENT.
A FEW FOOT-LIGHT FAVORITES. 321
juvenile "Pinafore" companies of two seasons ago
were regarded kindly by press and public ; and, in-
deed, until quite recently no extraordinary war was
made against presenting the talents of a child actor or
actress to the people. The Society for the Prevention
of Cruelty to Children has, however, organized a
stubborn resistance to the employment of little ones
in stage representations ; and while it may be well to
exercise some authority for the protection of infants
and for the preservation of the stage from a deluge
of child-talent, there can be no justification in allowing
that authority to run riot in plucking every blossom
from the tree of histrionism, and erecting a permanent
barrier against the development of native talent, when
any happens to exist in a child of tender years. The
experience of more than two centuries shows that the
best training is that which begins earliest, which begins
slowly, and widens only with the slow progress of the
years. There are very few actors or actresses who
have walked out of private life into the glare of the
foot-lights with anything like success. The amateur
may sometimes be suddenly metamorphosed into a
full-fledged professional, with a bit of reputation to
help him along the road he has chosen to travel, but
this happens very rarely. Only those who begin early
and study hard, and who have often to wait a long
time for recognition, gain a place in the Thespian
temple, and it is to those whose infant eyes open
almost upon the mysteries and wonders of the mimic
world, whose little limbs grow to strength behind the
scenes, and whose lives are identified completely with
all that have place or being behind the foot-lights, that
it is given to hope for position in the profession into
which they have been born instead of kidnapped.
I think the society for the Prevention of Cruelty to
21
(322)
LITTLE COUINNE.
A FEW rOOT-LIGIlT FAVORITES. 323
Children did a very good thing when it took Little
Corinno from the staije. The child was overtaxed far
beyond her years ; there was nothing very clever about
her any more than there would be about a school-girl
of the same age who had been taught to speak her
piece and did it boldly, but awkwardly and inartisti-
cally. It was more painful than pleasant to sit out a
performance of "Cinderella" with this offspring of
the Kemble family in the role of the heroine of the
glass slipper, and it was a temporary blessing to the
13ublic while the little thing was kept out of the way.
Like all the precocious ventures on the stage, Corinne
will gradually fade from memory, and the only thought
left of her will be a painful recollection of her childish
efforts to please the grown people who were foolish
enough to go to the theatre to see her.
The young man or the young lady who has given
years of study to preparation for the stage finds the
debut night one fraught with fears and hopes. There
are friends behind the scenes and friends in the audi-
ence will ins; to overlook faults and exaijo^erate excel-
lencies ; but there are cold, stern, critics, too, anxious
to puncture the new candidate for public favor in every
tender spot their cruel eyes can search out, and there
is the great public, that fickle body whose applause or
condemnation often depends upon the whim of the
moment. The effort is an enormous one to the new
player ; the suspense, frightful. A whole life's work
may be swept out of sight in a moment, and the life
itself blighted forever. But when the moment of suc-
cess arrives — what a thrill of joy the triumph sends
to the heart of the actress, if actress it be ! What a
dream of glory she already begins to live in ! How
her brain throbs and her heart bounds, and all the
world seems a paradise, beautiful and fair as Eden was
324 A FEW FOOT-LIGHT FAVORITES.
Avhou it loft tlio hands of I ho Crculor ! Friciuls crowd
:iround, the house is ringing with apphuiso, and she
tears away from Iho congratulations and kisses and
hand-shakings to step out before the curtain, and, with
glowing face and tears in her eyes, kisses her hand and
makes a i)rofoundh' thankful obeisance to the audience.
Then she returns to her crowdinLj friends on the stage,
from the manager down to the call-boy and scene-
shifters, and her cars ring with praise and encouraging
words until it is time for the curtain to go up once
more.
The debut of Emma Livry, an artiste who promised
to lead a very brilliant career, but who was suddenly
and early cut down by death, is described in a very in-
teresting manner l)y one who was present. It was at
the Grand 0[)era House, Paris, and the theatre was
filled from parquctte to dome with an extraordinary
audience. Louis Napoleon was there, and the Empress
Eugenie ; princes and dukes filled the boxes, and the
nobility of France, representative Americans and
prominent Englishmen were in the audience. Emma
Livry was then only sixteen. From her earliest child-
hood, says the writer, she had been devoted to the art
of dancing — though this was no extraordinary thing,
for th(!re are a large number of girls always in training
for the Grand Opera in Paris, who are taken at the age
of four years, and kept in constant practice until they
reach womanhood, when they appear in })nl)lic. But
this girl had shown extraordinary genius. In her later
years the celei)rated dancer, Marie Taglioni, Countess
de Voisius, heai-ing of tlu; new dancer, left her villa on
the Lake of Como, and her })alacc in Venice, to como
to Paris to give the girl lessons. Ibr improvement
was miraculous. Taglioni said slu; would renew the
triumphs she herself had won in former days.
A FEW FOOT-LIGHT FAVORITES. 325
And now sho glided upon the stage. The brilliant
audience ceased their chatter as she appeared. The
occasion took the character of Avhat it was afterwards
called in the newspapers — "a great solemnity." Sho
was very young and was just at that period in the life
of a girl when her figure is apt to be what old-fash-
ioned people call raw-boned. She was tall, thin, and
pale. Her fiice was not handsome. Her form gave
no evidence of physical strength.
She was received in a hush of silence. " Let us
see," this great audience seemed to say, " what you
really can do in this poetic art." Any one who could
have connected sensuality or grossness with this girl
would have been baser than a sybarite ; and yet her
dress was the conventional dress of ballet dancers —
short to the calf of the leg but thickly clad above.
She began. O Grace, you never found a prototype
till now ! O Painting, Sculpture, you paled before this
supple, elastic, firm, yet dainty tread. At the conclu-
sion of her first movement, when with a gush of sweet
music she sprang like a fawn to the foot-lights, and ex-
tendino; her slender arms and delicate hands towards
the audience, as if to ask, " Come, what is the ver-
dict on me now?" a burst of enthusiastic applause,
loud shouts of " Brava ! " and " Bravissima ! "
*' C'est magnifique ! " waving of perfumed handker-
chiefs, a deluge of sweet flowers formed the response.
The whole evening was a series of triumphs. The
Emperor and Empress sent an aid-de-camp behind the
scene to ofler her the Imperial congratulations. Marie
Taglioni, accompanied by her noble husband, sought
the girl also, and taking from her breast a magnificent
diamond star, which had been given her in former
days by the Emperor of Russia, "Here," said she,
V
V
1-^
(320) TAGLIOM CONGRATULATING EMMA LIVKY,
A few' foot-light favorites. 327
" take this the queen of dance, Marie Taglioni, is
dead — long live the queen, Emma Livry ! "
As I passed out amongst the dense crowd, the
writer continues, I saw a woman of middle age, a;|d
respectably dressed, leaning against one of the mar-
ble columns in the vestibule. Her face was flushed
and she was wiping tears from her eyes.
" You weep. Madonna? " said a gentleman who was
passing.
" Yes, Monsieur," she replied, " but it is with joy.
Who would not be proud of such a daughter, and of
such a tribute to her genius? "
There are few favorites of the public to-day who
have not fought their way to the front inch by inch,
who have not sacrificed everything for their art, toiling
through the day that the work of the night might
show improvement — very few who have not ' served
years of apprenticeship on the stage before the mo-
ment of success arrived. And this has been the rule
always. Nell Gwynne, the fish-girl, whose beauty
and bright repartee attracted the attention of Lacy, the
actor, and who peddled oranges to the audience before
she began to amuse them on the stage, managed with-
out much trouble, and during a short stage experience,
to win the heart of Charles II., who made her his mis-
tress and retained her while he lived, his parting
words to those around his death-bed being, " See that
poor Nelly doesn't starve ;" but Nelly did starve. She
died in poverty and left a line of dukes to perpetuate
her plebeian blood in royal veins. She died in
November, 1687, in her thirty-seventh year.
Lola Montez, the pretty Irish girl who in her four-
teenth year eloped with one Capt. James to avoid a
disagreeable marriage, accompanied him to India,
where they got mutually tired of each other and re-
328 A FEW roOT-LIUIlT I'AVOinTES.
turning to England studied dancing and wont on the
stage, was another of those fortunate and unl'ortunato
fascinating women whose lives fade awaj fast and
Tfho after a brief hey-day of luxuries lie down in rags
and poverty to seek a needed rest that is never broken.
She won the hearts of kings, led a revolution in
Poland, and finally, after being driven from her Bava-
rian castle where, as Countess of Lansfield she had
ruled, and strutting a brief hour in London in male
attire, died in this country January 17, 18G1. Her
ashes rest in Greenwood Cemetery, but she was saved
from a pauper's grave oidy through the charity of
some friend. During her life she had thrown away
millions. Fallin, the husband of Maude Granger, is
the son of the man with whom LolaMontcz had her last
escapade, Fallin, Sr., deserting his family in New
York to accomjiany Lola to San Francisco. Her real
name was Mario Dolores Eliza Rospanna Gilbert.
Another child of genius whom waywardness and
frailty brought to an early grave was Adelaide McCord,
better known to the world as Adah Isaacs Menken.
She was born near New Orleans, June 15, 1835, and
when still young went on the stage as a ballet dancer
in one of the theatres of the Crescent City. She had
been expelled from school, and tiring of her native vil-
lage, where she had created a sensation by embracing
the Jewish faith, she made the journey to New Orleans,
and as I have said went on the stage. Her career
there was not a very brilliant one until she began l)lay-
ing Mazcppa, the ])art with which her name has since
been identified. Prior lo her tiin<! men had appearcid
in this role. Ilcr first appearance was on Monday
night, Jinie 17, 18(11, in the Green Street Theatre,
New Yoi-k, then umler the management of ('apt. John
B. Smith. On the liist att<Mnpt to go up the run the
A ITEW FOOT-LIGHT FAVORITES. 329
horse after iiuikuiji: one turn fell, crashino; tliroii2i;h the
scenery with the Menken on its back. Horse and rider
were picked up, and after some delay the ascent was
made amidst a great deal of enthusiasm. The appear-
ance of so beautiful a woman as Menken in the scarcity
of clothing that Mazeppa requires created a furore,
and from that time her success was assured. She
fought spiritedly in the combat scene, breaking her
sword and otherwise won the good opinion of her
first audience. Previous to this she had married
Alexander Menken, a musician in Galveston, but
by this time also she had obtained an Indiana
divorce. While in New York she met John C. Hee-
nan, fresh from his victory over Tom Sayers, and
after a brief courtship married him. Another Indiana
divorce soon dissolved this knot, as it did a third time
in the case of Orpheus C. Kerr (Robt. H. Newell).
All this time her fame was o-rowino;. She Avent to
London, and after setting the English metropolis on
fire with her beauty returned to New York, where she
married James Barclay, a merchant, in whose mansion
she and her friends held such wild orgies that Barclay
was glad when she fled to Paris, where she was stricken
down in the midst of her mad career, in 186(3. The
brief but expressive epitaph, "Thou knowest," is
carved upon her tomb.
Mary Anderson, the tragedienne, is the most phe-
nomenal success of late years. She was born July 28,
1859, in Sacramento, California. Her parents re-
moved to Louisville when she was one year and a half
old, and there she was educated in the Ursuline Con-
vent. She had a lons-ing to be an actress from
her earliest years, and all her readings tended in
the direction of the stage. She was taken away from
school at the age of thirteen, to pursue her studies for
330 A i'i:\v rooT-LiciiT favouites.
the profession to wljidi she seemed to be so strongly
inclined. At the age of fifteen she went to Cincinnati
to see Charlotte Cushman act. While there she
called on Miss Cushman, who said she could give her
only a five-minute audience. Miss Anderson recited
passages from " Kichard III.," Schiller's " Maid of
Orleans," and "Hamlet." She remained Avith Miss
Cushman three hours, and the great actress had such
confidence in her talents that she told her to study a
few hours each day for a year and tiien she might go
on the stac^e. This Miss Anderson did. An accident
of some kind or other left Macaulev's Theatre in Louis-
ville with a Saturday night for which there was no at-
traction. Macauley knew Miss Anderson's desire to
go on the stage, and meeting her step-father, Dr.
Hamilton Griffin, in the street, told him the girl, who
was then only sixteen, might have the theatre that
night. Miss Anderson was overjoyed. She chose
JuHt'l for her debut, got a costume hurriedly together
and after one rehearsal and three days' preparation, :ii)-
peared before a large audience, and made a decided
hit. This was on November 27, 1875. Macauley was
so pleased with the debutante that he gave her his first
open week at starring terms. She then went to St.
Louis, in March, 1870, and added greatly to the repu-
tation she had won in her home city. Mr. John W.
Norton supported her. Ben DcBar sent her to his
New Orleans Theatre, and while in the Crescent City she
was presented, by the citi/.ens, with a check for $500,
and the Washington artillery presented her with a
jewelled badge of the battalion. Returning to Louis-
ville airain she continued her studies through the sum-
mer, began starring the following season, and has l)een
before the public ever since. She is a younglady of re-
markable personal })c:mty, intelligent and accom-
A FEW FOOT-LIGHT FAVORITES. 331
plishetl, a hard student, and one of the noblest and
fairest of her sex that ever adorned the stage.
Lotta Mignon Crabtree, another of the very success-
ful women on the stage, and one of the brightest sou-
brettes that ever delighted a public, was born at No.
750 Broadway, New York, on November 7, 1847. In
1854 her people removed to California, and Lotta
made her first appearance on a stage at a concert given
at Laport ; her second appearance was at Petaluma, in
1858, when she played Gertrude in "The Loan of a
Lover." She starred, they say, for two years as La
Petite Lotta. Before she made her appearance in New
York we hear of her in San Francisco at Burt's New
Idea and Gilbert's Melodeon — concert saloons —
where Joe Murphy, Barnard, Cotton, Pest, Burbank,
Billy Sheppard, Backus and other prominent minstrels
were eniraixod. The Worrell Sisters, Mao-irie Moon
(now Mrs. Williamson) and Lotta were in the com-
pany, and there was great rivalry between them at the
time. The theatre was crowded every night up to the
close of the first jDart in which there was a " walk
around," in which the girls entered into the liveliest
kind of a competition. Each did her utmost to out-
dance the other. Each favorite had her host of
admirers and the demonstration on the part of the
audience was intense. After the " walk around " the
house became almost empty, showing that this was the
attractive feature. Lotta was very ambitious, and
whenever she failed to score a triumph she would
retire to her dressing-room and cry bitterly. From
San Francisco her parents took her to New York,
where she gave her first performance at Niblo's Saloon,
June 1, 1864. She wasn't a success in New York, so
she went to Chicago and played " The Seven Sisters "
at McYicker's. Fortune began to smile on her there,
335
A FEW FOOT-LIUllT TAVOlilTES.
iuul her success dates from this point. One night dur-
iu2r this cnsrao^oniout an unknown admirer threw a
I.UTTA.
$300 gohl watch and chain npon the stage. Lotta
cannot sing any mon^, l)iit she kicks as cutely as of
A FEW FOOT-LIGHT FAVORITES.
333
yoro, dances neatly, and is as vivacious as a girl of six-
teen.
Maggie Mitchell, who has been a great favorite ever
since she produced " Fanchon " at Laura Keene's
MAGGIE MITCHELL.
Theatre, June 9, 1862, was born in New York in
1832, of poor parents. She began to play child parts
at the old Bowery and in 1851 had advanced to
responsible business. She made a hit at Burton's
Theatre as Julia in " The Soldier's Daughter," and
334
A FEW FOOT-LIOUT FAV0U1TE8.
then began stiirring in '<Tho Fiencli Spy," " Tho
Young Prince," and like plays, but did nothing remark-
able until, as I have already said, slie made a hit in
*'Fanchon," an adaptation of George Sands's novel
"La Petite Fadctte." Following tiiis canio " Jano
Eyre," "The Pearl of Savoy," and " Mignon."
Miss Mitchell has amassed a fortune by her efforts.
Her name oil' the stage is Mrs. Paddock, she having
■.«?«'•
\ A
EMMA AnnOTT.
married Mr. Ilcnry Paddock, of (Jlcvchind, Oiiio, in
Troy, New York, October 15, ISCS.
Emma Abbott, the finest of Ameiican lyric artistes,
after the usual freaks of an ambitious childhood and
the trials of an operatic; training in ]Milan and Paris,
was giv(!n a London engagement by Mr. Gye and
made her debut at th(; Koyal Italian Opera, Covent
Garden, on May 2, IHUj. The debut was a success,
A FEW FOOT-LIGHT FAVORITES. 335
and with the congratulation of friends, the best wishes
of all who knew her, and the predictions of the best
judges of vocal music that she had a brilliant future
ahead of her, she set out on a tour of the provinces,
singing through EngUmd and Ireland and everywhere
winning the love and applause of the people. Return-
ing to her own country the artiste gave two seasons of
concerts, and began to sing light opera. She has
created the role of Virginia in " Paul and Vu-ginia,"
and Juliet III " Romeo and Juliet," both which operas
she introduced here. Her repertory includes, besides
the two named, " Mignon," " Maritana," "The
Bohemian Girl," "Martha," "II Trovatore," and
" Faust." She has a sweet, clear, crystalline voice,
which she uses to great effect, is a charming lady per-
sonally, a careful, pure, and energetic artiste, and
altogether wholly deserves to be called, as she is,
" Honest Little Emma."
Marion Elmore, a charming little soubrette who is
looking after Lotta's laurels, is a native of England
and has been on the stage since her third year, having
then played Meenie with Joe Jcflerson in " Rip Van
Winkle." She was born in 1860 in a tent on the gold
fields of Sandhurst, Australia. She came to this
country with Lydia Tliompson in 1878, and pUiyed in
burlesque until the season of 1881-2 when she took
a soubrette part in Willie Edouin's " Sparks." She is
now starring under the management of Hayden & Davis
in " Chispa," a California play.
Edwin Booth, the illustrious son of Junius Brutus
Booth, was born at Belair, near Baltimore, Maryland,
in November, 1833. He was his father's dresser,
accompanying him on all his tours, and receiving from
him lessons in histrionism. On September 10, 1849,
he made his first appearance at the Boston Museum as
33 n A FEW FOOT-LIGHT FAVORITES.
T/r.svsW, ill " Kichurd III.," nnd on May 22, 1850,
;il)poaivd at the Airli Street Theatre, Pliihidelpliia, as
Wil/ord, in the " Iron Chest." In 1850 he distin-
guished himself by phiying " Kichard III.," at tho
Cliathani Theatre, New York, in the phaee of his father,
who had disappointed. Ilis first independent appear-
anee inthe metropolis, however, was made on May 4,
1857, as RicJiard III.^ at the Metropolitan, afterwards
the Winter Garden Theatre. In 1851 he went to Cali-
fornia and thence wandered to the Sandwieh Islands
and Australia in 1854. In 1857 he returned to New
York. lie was known as an actor of al)ility, hut it
was not until his famous cn2:a<2:ements at the Winter
Garden that he succeeded in making a really profound
impression on tlic public. Dining this revival "Ham-
let" run one hundred nights and ]\lr. Booth at once
stepped to a foremost position before the public. Ilis
disastrous investment in the theatre that bore his
name in New York is well known. It compelled him
to go into bankruptc}' in 1872, since which time he
has been the most successful of American stars. He
has been twice married — to Mary Devlin, an actress
in 18f;i, who died in 1802, and to Mary McVickor,
dauirhtcr of J. II. jNIcVicker, of Chicaijo, who died in
1881. His Hamlet is the finest interpretation of that
character on the American stage, and this with J)(:r-
iuccio, in " The Fool's Revenge," and Bnitus, are his
best impersonations.
John McCullough, though born in Ireland, came to
this country when very 3'oung. He was poor and an
orphan, and })overty had been " looking in at the door "
of the hum))lo home where he passed his boyhood for
many a year. Yet the tenant farm which liis father
held was onco the pride of all tho country round, and
the child's earliest recollections called to mmd a hap[)y
A FEW FOOT-LIGHT FAVORITES. 337
time which too soon, ahis, passed away. His mother
had died when the son was a mere hid, and misfortunes
came not singly but in hosts after that bereavement.
Sir Harvey Bruce, the hmdlord of the estate, though
a kindly man, as Mr. McCullough testified, claimed his
legal rights, and all that appertained to the estate held
by the family was taken possession of by law, and
father and son driven out from their home.
" How well I recall the time," said Mr. McCullough,
*' and every scene and incident of that eviction —as it
would, I suppose, be called now. I was a boy of
about twelve years or so, and the greatest trial to me
was the sale of a pony which I prized most highly. I
couldn't bear to part with the pony, and Sir Harvey
Bruce, who saw my grief and knew its cause, kindly
arranged matters so that before long I was able to call
the animal once more my own. It was an act of good-
ness which, of course, I have never forgotten."
Not long after the eviction the father died, and the
boy was left in the care of an uncle. But, like thou-
sands of othei's, young McCullough hacl heard of the
land of freedom beyond the Atlantic, and it was not
long before he decided to leave kindred and friends,
and seek a home in America. With all his earthly
possessions in a bundle the young lad landed at New
York, and with characteristic pluck and energy began
the battle for existence. He followed various callin<rs,
but soon felt within him the desire to become anactor.
Fortunately the foreman of a chair factory in Phila-
delphia, where he was employed, sympathized with the
aspirations of the future actor, and often studied with
him the great 'Shakespearean tragedies in which Mc-
Cullough afterward attained such renown.
It was in the winter of 1857 that the young aspirant
for Thespian honors first stood upon the stage ; and he
3;;8
A rtW FOOT-LIGHT FAVOIUTES.
|^^^*»li ■^tmimim.i'ifiiiti.
CALLED LLiUKE THE < linAIN.
bo<x:in ill Philudolphiji liis profcs.sioiial career at the
iminiliccnt .salary of $1 ;i week. For several ^^easo^s
A FEW FOOT-LIGHT FAVORITES. 339
he acted the " heavy vilUiin " line in the Shakespearean
drama, and made steady improvement in his art. A
great event in his career was his engagement to sup-
port the great Forrest in 18G2 ; for it gave him oppor-
tunities which such a man as McCullouo;h was not slow
to improve. The grand qualities which marked
Forrest's acting were made the subject of careful study
by the young actor, and to-day John McCullough is re-
cognized everywhere as the successor to the famous
American tragedian. His career as an actor, inter-
rupted only by a brief managerial experience in San
Francisco, has been one of steadily increasing success.
John McCullough' s starring experience dates from
only a few years back ; yet his impersonations, with
peerless Virginius at the head, have won fame and for-
tune in all parts of the country, and gained for him
also the highest honors on the English stao;e.
J. K. Emmett, or Joe Emmett, as he is familiarly
called the world over, was born in St. Louis on March
23, 1841. He early had a penchant for the stage,
and could rattle bones, play a drum or do a song and
dance on a cellar-door better than any of his com-
panions. He began life as a painter, but soon left the
pot and brush for the stage of the St. Louis Bowery,
where his specialty was Dutch "wooden-shoe busi-
ness." He could sing finely, and was as graceful as a
woman. So popular did he become in his line that
Dan Brvant engaged him for his New York house
m 1866. Two seasons later Charles Gayler wrote
" Fritz," a nonsensical play without rhyme or reason,
and Emmett opened with it in Buffalo. His success
was indifferent at first, but within a short time " Fritz "
and Emmett became the rage, and for fifteen years the
people have actually run after this star. His name
and play will fill any theatre in the United States, and
340 A FEW FOOT-LIOIIT FAVORITES.
in many i)lacos outside of the United States. lie is
the great i)et of the public. Time and again lias he
disappointed them, but it makes no dilference ; the
next time he announces himself ready to plav they are
there in throngs. Joe Emnictt has friends the whole
world over, and he is welcomed and admired every-
where.
John T. Raymond's real name is John T. O'Brien,
lie became stage-struck while clerking in a store, and
after a brief amateur experience made his first appear-
ance on the ])rofessional stage as Lope::, in " The
Honeymoon," on June 27, 1853, and played comedy
with varying fortune until 1874, Avhen "The Gilded
Age," which had l)een dramatized, was brought out at
Rochester, New York, on August 31st, and he made an
immense hit as C(jI. Midherry Sellers. Next to
Colonel Sellers, John T. Raj-moud's enduring popu-
larity rests upon his impersonation oi' Frrs// , (he Ameri-
can, in the drama of that name, whicli he is now
imi)ersonating throughout the country. In connection
with ])oth his best known parts Mr. Raymond may be
said to have "made" the plays they are framed in.
Without them those plays would be Hat, and in any
other hands than his the characters which relievo them
of that odium would be insiijid. It is the actor's art
and personal magnetism alone which make them what
they are — successes. ' A good story, whether it 1)0
true or not, is told about Raymond and John McCul-
lough. The latter was asked to ai)pear as Ingomar,
with Miss Anderson as Parthenia, at a ])enefit perform-
ance f(}r a friend. As an additional inducement the
beneficiary asked Raymon<l to play Polydor. " Cw-
tainly, with great pleasure," said Sellers; "I will
travel one thousand miles any time to play Polydor to
M<'(Jullough's Irifjomar," The happy man ran off to
A FEW FOOT-LIGHT FAVORITES. 341
tell his good fortune to McCuIlough ; but the trage-
dian, in his deepest Virginius voice, answered him:
" No, sir, never, never again ! Once and out." The
explanation of Mac's refusal to have Raymond in the
cast is o-lven as follows : —
It seems that at a certain benefit in Virginia City,
" Ingomar " was the play, Mr. McCuUough sustaining
the title role and Mr. Raymond played Pohjdor. Poly-
dor^ it will be remembered, is the old Greek duffer
who has a mortgage on Myron's real estate, and presses
for payment in hopes to get Partlienia' s hand in mar-
riage. The performance went beautifully, and the
applause was liberal, for McCuUough was playing his
best. Raymond was the crookedest and most miserly
of Poly dors, and the savage intensity he threw into his
acting surprised all who imagined he could only play
light comedy. All went more than well until Ingomar
offered himself us a slave to Polydor in payment of
Myron^s little account. "What, you?" screamed
Polydor, and, apparently overcome by the thought,
he " took a tumble," and fell forward upon Ingomar.
Ingomar stepped l)ack in dismay, when Polydor, on all
fours, crept nimbly between his sturdy legs and tried
to climb up on his back. The audience " took a tum-
ble," and the roof quivered and the walls shook with
roars of laughter. "D — n you," groaned Ingomar,
sotto voce, "if I only had you at the wings?" But
Pohjdor nimbly eluded his grasp, and, knocking right
and left the dozen supes, who were on as the army, he
skipped to the front of the stage and climbed up
out of reach of the projecting mouldings of the pros-
cenium. Here he clung, and, to make matters
worse, grinned cheerfully at the pursuers he had
escaped, and rapidly worked the string of a trick wig,
the long hair of which flapped up and down in the
342
A FEW FOOT-LIGHT FAVORITES.
most ludicrous fashion. It was inipossiblo for the play
to proceed, and the curtain was rung down, leaving
PoJydor still on his lofty perch, while the uudiencc
laughed and shouted itself hoarse. And this is the
reason why Mr. IMcCulIoiigii said, " No, sir. never
airain ! " to Mr. Eavniond's offer.
FAY TEMPLETON IN " niEEEE TAYEOU.
1 may add ll»,at among tlic}()UMg pcoi)](! of the stage
who are })ossessed of that personal magnetism tiiat
makes them popular, is Fay Tem[)leton, who is not
only pretty, but thoroughly original.
CHAPTER XXIV.
CHINESE AND JAPANESE THEATRICALS.
If the Chinese must go they will have to close up
the large theatres in San Francisco owned and con-
trolled by Celestial managers. In these temples of
the almond-eyed Thespis extraordinary plays are en-
acted running through months and even years, in a
to-be-continued style, for, the Chinese dramatist, Avho
never writes anything but tragedy of the wildest and
most harrowing kind, always begins with the birth of
his hero or heroine and does not let the merest mcident
pass until his or her friends are ready to sit down to a
feast of roast pig and rice by the side of the principal
character's grave. The dramas are mainly historical,
and many a Chinaman who starts in to see a first-class
play of the average length is on his way back to China
in a cofiin or box with his cue neatly folded around
him for a burial robe, long before the last act of the
drama is reached. So, too, the star actors frequently
die before they have time to finish the play. I don't
know that any American has ever had the patience
to wait for the denouement of a Chinese drama, but
to the saffron-skinned, horse-hair-surmounted and
slanting-eyed citizen of San Francisco, his theatre is a
place next in importance to the Joss House or temple,
and when he once buys his season ticket for a show, he
sticks to it with a pertinacity that would put an ordi-
nary glue or cement advertisement to the blush. It is
the same, too, when they patronize a theatre in which the
(343)
344 CIIINESK AM) JAPANESE TIIEATIlfCALS.
suri-ouiuliiigs and language arc Englisli ; once in their
scats, they stay — forgetting even to go out between
the acts for an opera-glass or a bottle of pop.
But to return to the Chinese theatre. Its interior
dillers very little from the interior of the places of
amusement frequented b}^ his American brother. The
general contour and arrangement of the auditorium is
pretty much the same. The men sit together on
benches partitioned olf into sinirle seats in the lower
portion of the house, or pit, with their little round
hats on, and their pipes or cigars in their mouths ; the
ladies, who are not allowed into the male portion of the
auditorium, have galleries for themselves whence they
look down upon the actions of their male friends be-
low. Everywhere except on the stage quiet and the
utmost serenity prevail, no person in the audience
moving a hand, raising a foot, or opening a lip, even
when the villain is cut into ribbons by the Sunday-
school hero ; and at no stage of the performance does
the slightest manifestation of delight or disapproba-
tion come from the patient and enduring on-looker.
In this respect John Chinamen has neglected to take
a lesson from his American cousin, or to acquire the
character of the howling short-haired <rentlemen who
apf)theosize Dennis Kearney and think there is no better
worshipping place in the world than " the sand lots."
The largest Chinese theatre in San Francisco is on
Washington Street and was opened in l.S7i). Its
auditorium is almost a copy of the best theatres
of the large cities of the country. Its audience
is seated and separated in tlie manner 1 iiave de-
scribed, and their behavior is, in accordance with
the custom of their country, (juiet and respectful.
The stage of the theatre, though, is a eiiriosilv-
There is no curtain, and but one scene that never
ClllNESIl AMD JAtANfiSE l-HEATIlICALg. 345
changes. On the side of the stage — or prosce-
ninni — long slips of colored paper with Chinese
characters on them are huno; — the ada<>'es and axioms
of what is familiarly known as tea-chest literature —
and numerous multi-colored lanterns shed their radi-
ance around the place. At the back of the stage sit
several musicians with tom-toms, cymbals, fiddles, and
divers other instruments all of wonderful construction
and with frightful capacity for setting anybody but a
Chinaman crazy. These musicians seem to be as im-
IDortant elements in the action and meaning of the
play as the actors themselves are. As soon as the per-
formance begins they immediately tune up, and from that
on until the show is over they never give the audience
or the music a single rest. The play usually begins at
five o'clock in the afternoon and continues until two
the following morning, so it will be readily understood
that the Chinese musician has a pretty wide scope for
his genius, while the Cliinese audience must be more
than mortal to stand both the music and the actors for
some hours at a stretch. The actors make themselves
as hideous as possible, employing wigs and long beards
with plenty of paint to disguise themselves. They
stalk and stam[) around in a manner highly suggestive
of the English-speaking " scene-eater," and there is
a jjreat deal of stabbino; and killino; — thunder and
blood, so to speak — which is wasted, as the audience
does not seem to rise to the enthusiasm of the occa-
sion and there are no " gallery gods" to help bring
the house down. While the actors are shoutino; loud-
est, the musicians, all of whom seem to be playing
different tunes, are workins: hardest and the din and
discord of a supremely grand moment of Chinese
tragedy are something horrible to hear and simply
torturesome to endure. Boys or young men play the
340 CHINESE AND JAPANESE THEATRICALS.
female parts as Avas the custom on the English stage
in the time of Elizabeth. There is no levity in the
performance, no prancing or dancing, nothing hut the
utmost severity and solemnity, Avhich leaves me in
doul)t whether the Ciiincsc go to the theatre to he
amused or arc compelled l)y some law of their country
or religion to do so.
The property-room of a Chinese theatre is a very
queer concern, lilled up Avith lanterns, old clothes,
spears, etc., hut the most extraordinary feature of the
place is the quantity of eata1)lcs that liiid their way
into the room and down the throats of the performers.
That most delicious morsel, roast pig, of whose dis-
covery by the Celestials diaries Lamb has written so
charmingly, occupies a prominent place on the board,
and is frc(iuenllv attacked by the actors, wlio api)ear
to come oft' the stage as hungry as six-day go-as-you-
please pedestrians are when they leave the track.
"When the Chinese actor is not acting or i)utting on his
costume you may dei)end upon it that he is eatiug.
This histrionic peculiarity is strongly marked among
the descendants of IIo-Fi, who if they are not good
tragedians have tirst-class ai)[)(^tites and stomachs
whoso capacity is not measured by three meagre meals
a day.
A correspondent writing from Yokohama gives an
idea of the amusements served u|) in the Japanese
capital by its enterprising theatrical managers. The
Japanese, says this writer, are a theatre-going i)cople,
and their taste is cat(U'ed unto continually. Whether
the managers accumulate riches I know not, but theat-
rical amusements are provided for the wants aii<l means
of all classes. At the first-class establishment is a
revolving stage, upon which is placed the scenery and
properties devoted to the play on the boards. The
CHINESE AND JAPANESE THEATRICALS. 347
orchestra occupy the left-hand side of the stage, or
rather they are phxced in an elevated pen at the left of
the stage floor. The revolving part of the business is
about fifteen feet from the foot-lights, the intervening
space being permanent. The wings are not elaborate,
and not much machinery is employed to work up
eflfects. The inevitable trap is utilized on this stage,
it being the only place that boasts of the improve-
ment. The actors at this theatre are of the first rank,
and their dresses are gorgeous in the extreme. " Re-
gardless of expense" must be their motto; and here
are produced all the famous plays known to the na-
tives, they being all of national significance.
The Japanese are patriotic in their instincts, and do
not run after strange representations with which to
amuse themselves. Everything on the board is in-
tensely Japanese — descriptive of their fables and
romances, as well as reproducing actual episodes in
the history of the empire. To the stranger who is
alien to the language their plays are first-class panto-
mimes only, though one can but accord the actors rare
dramatic ability. I must say, however, that the style
affected in their stage step is something too awfully
too too for anything. The poetry of motion is a dif-
ferent affiiir here from what is considered the correct
thing elsewhere. Keene or Billy Emerson could,
either of them, get a new kink in a stage walk if they
could study Japanese methods a while. It costs
thirty cents to enter the temples of dramatic art — that
is, to be in the place for the upper tendom, the gal-
lery— or dress circle, it may be called — which runs
on both sides of the house, as well as on the end front-
ino; the stao;e. This o-allery is about five feet wide,
and is entered from the passage-way running along it
through openings in the partition without doors. It
CHINESK AND JAPANESE THEATRICALS. 349
is divided into spaces of five feet or more by placing a
round piece of timber of say two inches in diameter
from the gallery front and the back of it. The front
is elevated above the floor about fifteen inches only,
as the occupants are expected to sit upon their haunches
on the matted floor. Between acts tea is served to
any who will buy, and smoking is allowed all over the
house during the play. The body of the theatre is
supplied with benches without backs for the accommo-
dation of the audience.
There is no sharp practice in the way of reserved
seats in Japanese theatres. Neither is there necessity
to iro outside for a clove or browned coflee. When
once seated you are at your ease, not having to draw
yourself up for any other fellow. The second-grade
places are of a cheaper order, where one can sit on the
floor, there being no seats, or stand upon the ground,
there being no floor, the earth doing duty in that re-
crard. One cent and a half and two cents and a half
give the grades of the establishments. They are all,
best as well as inferior, lighted with the domestic-made
candle, and when the original dips of our grand-
mothers are remembered, the kind of a candle used is
described. The candles smoke as well as the audience.
There is a large stock of amusement to be had in a
one and a half cent concern, that is, if you are not
particular about the testhetic nature of the surround-
ings, and do not carry with you a cultivated musical
ear. These places do not carry on their paj^-roU any
large number of star actors, or a numerous stock
compan}^ and they do not devote much time to the
rehearsal of parts, as it is the duty of the prompter- to
flit from one actor to another with the lines of the dia-
logue in one hand, and in the other a stifi" paper lan-
tern. Bending low, he reads in a tone readily caught
350 CHINESE AND JAPANESE THEATRICALS.
by the actor the lines, which are duly repeated, while
the jn-()inptcr " is doing his duty" by the next one.
It 15 one of the most interesting features of a play,
this constant ilitting of the prompter. If any fellow
about the establishment earns his pay, the prompter is
the man.
There are very many side-shows to attract the pleas-
ure-seeker, all of them being within the compass of
the huml)lest, the charge being from one-half cent to
one and one-half cents. In these places are witnessed
juggling tricks of real merit, and top-spinning that is
a bewilderment to the looker-on. Toj)s of all sizes
are spun with the aid of a string, and made to revolve
by the action of the hands only. An expert will
throw his tc>p from him, and l)y the action of the string
as it unwinds draw it back so that it is cau<rht in his
hand — of course, without it having touched the
ground. An unopened fan is then taken in the other
hand, and the top is placed upon one of its sides and
spun along it. Then the fan is opened, and the top
continues to spin along its edge to its farther side, and
along it until the hand is reached, when up it runs on
the arm to the shoulder, and across the back and down
the other arm, on to tlie fan again. Then it will bo
tossed into the air and caught upon one of the corners
of the opened fan, from which it is tossed again and
again into the air and caught as it descends. It is
wonderful the way they can manijjulate a top. I have
seen tiiem take a large-sized one, having a s])indIo by
which it was made to rotate, and by simply jjlacing the
spindle between the palms of the hands, and drawing
one hand back while advancing the other a numl)er of
times it attained sufficient velocity, when it was taken
from the tal)lc on which it was spinning and a turn taken
around the spindle with a string that was pendant from
CHINESE AND JAPANESE THEATRICALS.
351
a paper lantern hanging liigh up against the ceiling oC
the building. Up wont the top into the lantern, which
opened into the shape of an uni])rella, and a wealth of
festoons of bright-colored tissue paper descended from
c
o
c
w
Ph
W
W
K
it all about the stage. Those who witnessed Little
All Right and the troupe of Japanese acrobats that ex-
hibited their tricks years ago in the United States will
remember the many surprising feats done by them.
352
CHINESE AND JAPANESE THEATRICALS.
What they paid $1 for seeing can l)e witnessed in
Yokohama in the oi)en air for just what one is pleased
to contrihutc, or under cover for from one to three
cents.
>
J
MINNIE MADDERN.
There arc no inanilestatioiis of applause, no cat-calls
or signs of impatiimeo. In the })laces visited by even
the poorest, where the accommodations are of the
rudest, perfect order is observed, and every one seems
to be possessed of a patient quietness that is amazing.
They exiiihit a deference for the comfoit of th(Mr fel-
lows that is worthy of imitation. One great reason,
pcrha[)s, that the .i)eoplc are so gentle and accom-
modating, one to the other, may be found in their
com[)lete sol)riely. No exhibition of drunken rowdy-
ism is to be seen, and yet the entire people, women as
well as men, drink of the national beverage, " sake,"
a liquor distilled from rice. As there is no ''taran-
tula juice" in its composition, its inebriating (juality
is rather mild. Its clfect upon the brain is not lasting,
ucither is it injurious.
CHAPTER XXV.
OPERA AND OPERA SINGERS.
Ferdinand Pal mo, who died in New York in Sep-
tember, 1869, as poor as the proverbial church
mouse, was the father of Italian opera in this country.
He was born in Naples in 1785 and came to America
when twenty-five years old, settling in Richmond, Vir-
ginia. After remaining there six years he moved to
New York, but not proving successful in a business
venture returned to Virginia. After paying two visits
to Europe he again tried New York and built a cafe,
which he run until 1835 when he opened a saloon cham-
ber, which was afterwards converted by him into
Palmo's Opera House, and m which Italian opera was
for the first time presented to the American people
on February 2, 1844. The opening opera was " II
Puritani," and during the season the best operas of
the day were produced. The venture, however, did
not prove a financial success. Palmo was reduced to
poverty.' With the assistance of friends he opened a
small hotel, and after nine months became cook for a
Broadway restaurant " where," says a wi-iter, " he
might often have been seen wearing his white apron and
square cap and engaged in preparing the delectable
dishes for which that establishment was noted." The
death of his employer threw Palmo out of work and
reduced him to straitened circumstances. As he
was too old to do anything, members of the dramatic
and musical professions met and organized a Palmo
"^ (353)
354 OrEHA AND OPKKA SINCKRS.
Fund, each person in tlic organization agreeing to pay
$13 per year toward the okl man's relief, and he lived
eoralbrtal)ly on this fnnd until the day of his death.
It is a curious fact that no musical or theatrical ce-
lebrities attended his funeral.
Forty years have effected a great change in the tasto
of the people of the United States. Italian opera
now is one of tJie best paying things in the musical or
dramatic market. Announce a season of grand opera
in any city, and from that time on until the date of
opening the manager of the theatre in which the sea-
son is to be held will be bothered by applicants for
places. Douljle and treble the ordinary price of ad-
mission is asked, but that makes no diUbrence ; every-
body seems desirous of patronizing Italian opera, and
the extra price is paid without grumbling. These high
prices of admission must be paid l)ecause it costs a vast
amount of money to run Italian o[)ora, transporting
large companies long distances, paying immense sala-
ries, and shouldering the enormous expenses of equip-
ping an opera organization and mounting the pieces.
It is a great sight to sec an opera company travel-
ing. The principal singers must have their sleeping-
cars and dining coaches, those beneath them put up
with sleeping berths merely, while the members of the
chorus are crowded like emigrants into an ordinary
coach, from out Avhich roll odors of fried garlic and
Italian sausage. When tiieir destination is reached
the ])rima doniK; liiid carriaGfes in wait ins; to drive
them to the best hotel in the place. Tiie secondary
artists may also have carriages, but they go to minor
hotels, "while the chorus jjcople are left to themselves
to seek cheap Ijoarding-houses and do the best they
can. Wagon loads of trunks follow the carriages and
wagon loads go to the theatre. Sometimes there is
OPERA AND OPERA SINGERS. 355
scenery. For instance, Mapleson always carries the
scenery for "Aida," even to big cities where there are
first-class theatres. Hundreds of pieces of baggage
are left at the hotels, and hundreds at the theatre.
Immediately the trou[)e arrives the principal artists fall
into the hands of the interviewer, and as the tenor and
the prima donna and the others, too, are tired, the news-
paper man gets very little to write about unless he runs
across such a good fellow as Campanini, or happens to
meet Charles Mapleson, if it is Her Majesty's Com-
pany.
Then on the followino; mornins: comes the rehearsal.
The triumph is the usual sequel. All the young ladies
are immediately " mashed " on the tenor, and would
willingly follow the example of some New York
beauties, who went as a committee of the whole behind
the scenes one night to place a wreath of bay leaves
on the head of their favorite warbler, only they have
amateur tenors of their own by their sides who might
not relish such a display of their appreciation of good
music.
While her Majesty's Opera Company was having a
season at the Academy of Music, New York, two
years ago, a newspaper man interviewed Col. Maple-
son, the impresario, and took a look at the interior of
the establishment, exploring many of its mysteries.
In the course of the conversation he asked : — ■
" How many rehearsals do you give a new opera? "
*'Ah, now lean tell you something that the public
know nothing of. A man of the crutch-and-toothpick
school, after I've put on, let me say 'Aida' at a cost of
$10,000, will come to me and say, 'Aw, I've seen
"Aida" twice ; when are you going to give us some-
thing new? ' And the poor manager has to smile and
mount something equivalent to it immediately. Ke-
OPEKA AND OPERA SINGERS.
O
0
y^
o
hearsuls I P^/r example 'i'liis is tlio sixth fuil-l):iii(l
rchearsiil for the orchestra uh)iic — (Irilliiig for two
and three hours — to f,'et the li^'ht and shade of the
OPERA AND OPERA SINGERS. 357
pianissimo and forte. After some more band rchccar-
sals — the slight alterations in the score by Arditi kept
four copyists at work all last night and until day-
break — the principal artists rehearse about twenty
times with the piano ; then comes a full rehearsal with
band, the artists seated all around the stage on chairs ;
then the property-man has to have his rehearsal. The
carpenters now come in for their rehearsals, with
scene framers, etc. Then comes the first stage re-
hearsal, with everybody without the scenery, and then
another with the scenery ; later on again with the
properties and the business, and then it is fit for public
representation. Then a languid swell will tell me he
has seen the opera twice, and will want to know when
I am going to give somethino; new."
An attendant here brought the colonel his letters,
over which he hastily glanced.
" Here is a letter from the Prince of Wales," he
exclaimed, showing me the note, dated Hotel Bristol,
Paris, October 22d. " It's in reference to his omni-
bus box at Her Majesty's. While I am free for a
moment from my den, just take a tour of this place.
I'll act as guide, philosopher and friend. I'd'like you
to see what's going on, and to let the public know
what a herculean task it is to run old operas, let alone
producing new ones."
We strode across the stage and plunged into a cav-
ernous passage, to emerge on a staircase and into a
property-room.
"What dummy is this?" demanded the colonel,
administering a kick to the decapitated form of a bux-
omly-proportioned female, " and where' s the head? "
It is the " Rigoletto " corpse.
We took a peep into the armory, which, from its
aroma of oil, painfully reminded me of my ocean ex-
358 OPERA AND OPEUA SINGERS.
perieiico. Here the " Talismano " holincts, Oriental
of design ; here the liead-pieccs worn in the " Puri-
tani," reminding one of Cromwell's crop-eared knaves ;
here the Italian so well known in " Trovatore."
Morions and breastplates and shields were here, and
matchlocks of ancient pattern, with guns of the Martini-
Henry design.
" Do you see these guns? " suddenly exclaimed the
colonel. " I bought four hundred of them for live
.shillings a jjiece at an auction. They had been sold
by an English lirm to the French government during
the Franco-Prussian war at a fabulous price. One
night, at Dublin, we were doing ' Der Freischut/,'
and poor Titjens was standing at the wing. One of
these guns was loaded with a little i)owder ramme(l
down by a piece of paper only. When fired, the lock
l>lew ofl", and a piece of it went right through Titjens's
dress, sticking in the wall behind her. AVhat chance
had the French with such wea})ons in their hands? "
From the armory we proceeded to the barber shop,
where " Mignon," "Aida," "Traviata," and " Lucia"
wigs, curls, moustaches and beards showed grizzly on
shelves. A French l)arber was enirai^ed in titifving
Campanini's wig for " Linda," and he expatiated on
its wonderful a[)proach to nature with all the chic of
his very expressive mother tongue.
\n one of the wardrobes were the costumes for half
a dozen operas, each opera folded away and labelled.
Colonel Ma[)l(!Son has about two thousand costumes
Avith him, and his packing-cases, each the size of a
small a[)artment, number nearly one hundred. AVc
found the Nilsson Hall full of newly painted scenery,
and the Hies thronged with carpenters. The scene
painter's room was devoted lo "Aida," while the
stage-man's room was choked fidl of flotsam and jet-
OPERA AND OPERA SINGERS. 359
gam, from the lamp of a Vestal Virgin to the statuette
PATTT.
of Cupid in purihus naturalibus, and from a loaded
pistol to a roleau of stage gold.
*'The stage brass band is rehearsing in the lower
360 OrKKA AM) Ol'KRA SINGERS.
regions, the principal artistes doing ' Trovatore ' in
the first saloon, the chorus rehearsing * Marta ' in the
second saloon, the orchestra on their own ground
rehearsing *Aida,' the ballet at work in a large room,
and a set of coryphees blazing away in a distant
corner. Listen ! "
In the first saloon were the "Trovatore" party,
lounging around a piano, presided at by Bisaccia, the
accompanist to the company. Mile. Adini, nee Chap-
man, the Leonora^ was warbling right under the mous-
tache of her husljand, Aramhuro, the tenor who was
frantic because Mapleson refused £800 to release him
from his engagement ; while Del Puente was slapping
his leg vigorously with his walking-cane, as he occasion-
ally burst in with a superb note in harmony with the
score. Madame Lablache leant with her cll)Ows upon
the bar, and knowing every square inch of a role she
had performed from St. Petersburg to Gotham, turned
from the perusal of a newspaper at the right moment
in order to discharge the electricity of her Azucena^
while her daughter, who is studying for the operatic
stage, attended en amateur^ a toy black-and-tan ter-
rier in her arms. Having listened to a delicious mor-
ceaii from " II Trovatore," we ascended to saloon No.
2, from whence a Niagara of melody was grandly
thunderini;. Here we found the chorus, numbering:
al)out eighty, seated'hatted and bonneted, with 8ignor
Rialp presiding at the pianoforte. The rehearsal was
♦'Marta." After visiting a dozen dillerent depart-
ments, every one of which is presided over by a vigi-
lant chief, we again found ourselves on the stage.
** lioiv,'' exclaimed the colonel, "you have some
little idea of what I have to look after, and yet when I
produce a new opera, a crutch-and-toothpick fellow
will coolly ask nie^ after seeing it twice, when 1 am
OPERA AND OPERA SINGERS.
361
going to give something < new.' Do you know that
every one in that chorus 3^ou have just seen is an
Italian, and selected after considerable trouble and
GERSTER.
great expense? Do you know what it costs me to
operatically rig up each member of that chorus ?
"I camiot tell."
3G2 OPKRA AND OI'ERA SINGKRS.
" Woll, it costs me $000, uiul it cost nic $15,000 to
biiiig the troiii)e across the Athintic. Do you know
what it costs mc every time I ring up my curtain?
Two tliousand seven hundred and iil'ty dolhirs, and
then add the weekly hotel bills, $2,200. I am doing
opera at Her Majesty's at this moment. Here's the
bill " — handing me the programme of Her Majesty's —
" doing the same operas as here, and that in order to
do them here, 1 am ohligcMl to get a second set of
everylhing^ from a drinking-cui) to a l)ootlace, and this
costs me £120,000 before I started at all, as this is a
' distinct and separate undertaking."
" How many operas does your repertoire include?"
"Thirty. I have thirty with mc, and I can play
any one of them. Another element I have to deal with is
the superstition, or whatever you like to call it, of
some of my people. They won't go into any room in
a hotel with the number thirteen, and an artist won't
make his or her debut on the 13th ; it is considered
utducky. I once recollect having engaged Mmc.
Gri^si and Signor Mario for a tour in England, eom-
mencing the 13th of Sei)teniber. On sending them the
programme, Mine. Grisi's attention was drawn to the
'thirteenth.' She thereupon wrote a very kind letter
stating that nothing could induce her to appear on the
'thirteenth;' but to show there was nothing mean
about her, she would rather commence it on the
* twelfth,' although her pay was to commence on the
' thirteenth-' I amended her programme and com
nienced on the ' twclftli,' but as that date happened to
be a Friday it was again returned to me with a most
amiable letter, which I still preserve, in which she
stated again that there was nothing mean al)out the al-
teration, as she would be the only loser; she there-
fore desired me to commence! it on the * eleventh,'
OrEKA AND OPERA SINGERS. 363
when both she and Signer Mario would sing without
sahiry until the proper date of the commencement of
the contract. One of the artists went to Tiffany's tlie
other day to purchase a bangle. The price was $13.
' Won't you take less?' 'No.' And would you be-
lieve it, she paid |14 sooner than pay $13."
We regained the managerial sanctum.
" Here is more of it," cried the impresario, " a
letter from Campanini. I'll read it to you. ' Dear
Mr. Mapleson : I am very ill, and cannot possibly sing
to-night unless you send me — some tickets for family
circle, balcony, parquette, and general circle. Cam-
panini.' "
Here the colonel was summoned to hear a young
lady sing — an amateur who aspired to the vocal
majesty of grand opera. Upon his return, after the
lapse of a few minutes, I asked : —
" What opera pays the best, colonel? "
" Oh, there are a dozen trumps."
" Is not ' Carmen ' one of them? "
*' Yes, 'Carmen' has been one of my best suc-
cesses."
In conclusion. Colonel Mapleson said : —
" I am nervous as to the future, as nearly every
comino: artist has the misfortune to be American."
" Misfortune, colonel? "
" Yes. I use the word advisedly. Albani, Val-
leria, Adini, Van Zandt and Durand, one of the best
dramatic prima donne on the stage, who, by the way,
has gone to sing at the Grand Opera in Paris instead
of coming here, and Emma Novada, a new prima —
Candidus, the tenor, too ; all the coming talent is
American."
The salaries paid prima donne are very high. As
far back as 1870, Mme. Patti was paid $50,000 a year,
3(34 OPERA AND OPERA SINGERS.
besides being given numerous presents })y the Enipcroi
of Russia, Last winter Mr. Henry E. Abl)cy paid
Mme. Patti at the rate of eight times the imperial sal-
ary, giving the diva $4,000 for each concert she sang
in, and she sang two in each week. All)ani was paid at
the same rate as Patti in Russia. Nilsson, before her
retirement, got $1,000 a night in the provinces. Now,
that she is to return to the staire and come to America,
she will be paid probably as handsomely as Patti was.
Nearly all the foreign singers and artists have London
agents through whom American impresarios carry on
their negotiations. Gye is one of these agents and IL
C. Jarrett, of London, who accompanied Bernhardt,
as her agent, and who represents Nilsson, is another.
Singers and dramatic people, too, are fond of dia-
monds. They have thousands of dollars' worth of
them ; still they believe in investing in them because
they represent so much value in such little space. Sara
Bernhardt had a wonderful wealth of these precious
stones, and Neilson Avas well provided with them. B.
Spyer, the St. Louis diamond merchant, with whom
theatrical and operatic people deal almost exclusively,
and who enjoys the patronage of nearly all foreign
artists who visit this country, told me a very funny
story about the first diamond ho sold Christine Nils-
son, lie had a splendid stone worth $4,000, and tak-
ing it with him he went up to the Lindell Hotel, and
knocking at Nilsson 's door was told to come in. Ho
opened the door and there on a sofa the great songs-
stress was reclining covered with an old calico gown.
Ho showed her the stone, but she did not want to buy
it and would not. Nilsson having left the room for a
while, Mr. Sj)yer approached the dressing-maid, who
was an old lady, and showing her a handsome diamond
riuir told her he would ^irivo it to her if she used her
OPERA AND OPERA SINGERS. 3G5
influence to induce her mistress to buy the $4,000 dia-
mond. She said she would, and while they were talk-
ing in walked a gray-haired old gentleman in common
clothes who looked like a servant, and whom Mr.
Spyer engaged in conversation. He told the old man
of his scheme with the dressing-maid, when the latter
said,. *' Tut, tut, she can do nothing for you ; she's got
no influence."
♦' Then can you do anything?" Mr. Spyer asked.
"I'll make it all right if you help me to sell the
Madame that stone-"
" Well," said the old gentleman, " I want a pair of
ear-rings for my daughters, who are in England."
"All right " was the diamond broker's answer ; " you
use your influence and if I make the sale you shall
have the ear-ring's."
The old gentleman said he would do what he could.
Mr. Spyer sold the diamond to Nilsson and in a few
days the old gentleman walked into his store and after
looking over the stock selected a $650 pair of ear-rings.
Spyer was surprised, but his surprise was greater
when he learned that the person he had taken for a
servant was none other than H. C. Jarrett, then and
now Nilsson' s confidential ao;ent.
Mr. Spyer told me another story which I may as
well bring in here, of how he sold a ring to Adelaide
Neilson for $3,000. Mr. Lee, who was then Neilson's
husband, was conducting the negotiations, and told
Mr. Spyer that he was going to buy some property in
Chicago, and would receive a telegram in regard to it,
to know whether his ofier for the property had been
accepted or rejected. If he did not receive a tele-
gram by twelve o'clock noon the following day, he
would buy the ring. At noon next day Mr. Spyer was
at the Southern Hotel, where Mr. Lee and his wife were
360 OPERA AND OPERA SINGERS.
stopping. lie asked the clerk if he had seen Mr. Leo
arouiid the rotunda, and the clerk answered no, that
he himself was looking for Mr. Lee, as he had a tele-
gram for him.
" Well now, I'll tell jou what to do — " mention-
ing his first name, for the diamond merchant knew the
clerk, "you'll oblige me very much and do me a great
favor if you'll keep that telegram down here until I
go up stairs and see Lee."
The clerk agreed ; Mr. Spyer went up stairs and sold
his diamond ring. Himself and Mr. Li^c walked down
the stairs to get a drink. The clerk called Mr. Lee,
handed him the telegram and lie opened and read it.
" By Jove, Barney," he said, holding out the tele-
gram, " if I'd gotten .this ten minutes sooner I
wouldn't have bought that ring."
*' Well, I'm glad you didn't get it," Mr. Spyer re-
sponded. " Let's go and liave some Apollinarius."
One morning during that same week Mr. Si)yer was
sitting in the store when Ncilson came in alone and
bouirht a diamond ring for $175, paid for it and told
the merchant to saj' nothing to Philip al)Out it. There
was nothing so very extraordinary in this ; but wlien
Mr. Lee came in an hour aftei'wards and picked out a
ring about the same value and l»aying for it enjoined
Mr. Spver to sav nothing to Adelaide about it, he was
surprised at the remarkableness of the eoineidenee.
He never heard anything more about either of the
rings.
CHAPTER XXVI.
THE MINSTREL BOYS.
The idea of negro minstrelsy in its present shape
originated forty years ago with Dan Emmett, Frank
Brower, Billy Whitlock and Dick Pelhani . This happy
quartette organized the Virginia Serenaders in 1841,
giving their first performance on December 30th. An
idea of the "first part " furnished by that combination
was given last season, when Dan Emmett himself ap-
peared with three others in an act in which the old
jaw-bone figured, and the other instruments were
banjo, tambourine and fiddle. Fifty years before the
time of the Virginia Serenaders a Mr. Grawpner is
said to have blacked up at the old Federal Street
Theatre, in Boston, where he sang an Ethiopian song
in character. The first of the negro melodies that
have been preserved is " Back Side of Albany Stands
Lake Champlain." It was Sung by Pot-Pie Herbert,
a Western actor who fiourished long before the days of
"Jim Crow," Rice, or Daddy Rice, as they called
him. Herbert's song was as follows : —
Back side Albany stan' Lake Champlain,
Little pond half full o' water;
Platteburg dar too, close 'pon de main,
Town small, he grow bigger berearter.
On Lake Champlain Uncle Sam set he boat
An' Massa McDonough he bail 'em;
While General Macomb make X^iatteburg he home
Wid de army whose courage aebber fail 'em.
(367)
3(J8 THE MIN'STllKL BOYS.
Diultly Rico was employed in Ludlow & Smith's
Southern theatre as property-man, lanip-liirhter, stage
carjienter, etc., and lie made no roj)utation nntil he
began jumpinui; Jim Crow, in Louisville, Kentucky, in
1829, after which he became famous and made a for-
tune ])y singing his song in this country and England.
The oriijinal " Jim ('row," with the walk and dress,
were copied from an old Louisville negro, and ran along
regardless of rhythm in this manner: —
I went down to creek, I went clown a fishing,
I axed the old miller to gim me chaw tobacker
To treat old Auut Ilanner.
Chorus. First on de heel tap, den on dc toe,
Ebery time I wheel about I jump Jim Crow.
I goes down to dc branch to pester old miller,
I wants a little light wood;
I belongs to Capt. Hawkins and don't care a d-^n.
CiiOKUS. First on de heel tap, etc.
George Nichols, a circus clown, claims to have been
the first negro minstrel, and some award this distinc-
tion to George Washington Dixon, wlio disputes the
authorship of " Zij) Coon" with Nichols, who first
sanir " Chire Dc Kitchen," which he arranijed from
hearing it sung l)y negroes on the Mississippi, Bill
Keller, a low comedian, was the original " Coal Bhick
Rose," in 1830, John Clements having (•()m[)osed the
music. Barney Burns, a job actor and low comedian,
first sang " My Long Tail Blue," and " Such a Get-
ting U}) Stairs," written and composed by Joe Black-
burn. These were all about Daddy Rice's time, and
nearly all the songs of the day were constructed in the
style of " Jim Crow." They were taken from hearing
the Southern darkies singing in the evenings on their
plantations.
THE MINSTKEL BOYS. 369
In the year following the organization of the Virginia
Serenaders the original Christy Minstrels were organ-
ized by E. P. Christy, in Buffalo. The troupe con-
sisted of E. P. Christy, Geo. Christy (whose real name
was Harrington), L. Durand and T. Vaughn. They
first called themselves the Virginia Minstrels, but
changed to Christy Minstrels in a short time, when
Enon Dickerson and Zeke Bakers joined them. The
party continued to give concerts up to July, 1850, when
E. P. Christy died and was buried in Greenwood,
George Christy had withdrawn in October, 1853, owing
to some dispute between himself and E. P. His
salary during the two years and six months pre-
ceding the withdrawal amounted to $19,680. The
troupe gave two thousand seven hundred and ninety-
two concerts during its existence, took in $317,-
589.30, paid out $156,715.70, and had a profit
left of $160,873.60. The profits of the first year did
not exceed $300. Companies were now springing up
everywhere, and so great was the rage for ministrelsy
that the troupes were obliged to give morning concerts.
The entertainment has been one of our public amuse-
ments ever since, and a good company of burnt cork
artists can command a good house anywhere. Follow-
ing the spirit of enterprise of the age and the tendency
to gigantic proportions in everything, minstrelsy has
developed into Mastodon Megatherion and other
mammoth organizations. End men by the dozens, song
and dance men by the scores and no less than forty
("count 'em ") artists now amuse tlie public that was
satisfied with four in '41. By the way it was in this
year on July 4th, that bones were first played before an
audience, the player being Franli Brower of the Vir-
ginia Serenaders.
George Christy, who was the most celebrated Ethio-
370
THK MINSTREL BOYS.
pian performer the world knew in those days was
born in Puhiiyra, State of New York, November 3,
1827. He was sent to school at an early age, and
althouijh he excelled in all the branches of education
jS&'?Sj.^;^S^i
GKOIUSE ("IIKISTY.
peculiar to boys of liis age, after school hours tho
master often found him at the head of a party of boys
whom he had assembU;d together for the purpose of
giving theatrical entertainments, or, as they called it,
THE MINSTREL BOYS. 371
a show. George was, as he ever has been, the very
head and front of this species of amusement ; and
subsequently, under the auspices of E. P. Christy,
made his debut as Julius, the bone-player, in the
spring of 1839, and afterwards attained to the very
first rank in his profession. He survived his name-
sake many years.
The only fault to be found with the minstrelsy of the
present day is the coarseness that pervades many of the
sketches and crops out in the songs and funny sayings.
The old-time ne2;ro character has been sunk out of
sight and the vulgarity of the gamin has taken the
place of the innocent comicalities that were in vogue
ibrty years ago. It is true that the negro character
has undergone a change and that the black man now
vies with his white brother in everything that is low
and vicious ; but the criticism still holds good that
negro minstrelsy is not what it was or what it ought to
be, and that no matter how grand its proportions
may be made by enterprising managers the many
features that make it ol)jectionable to fastidious people
must be pruned ofFbefore it can be said to be deserving
that full recognition which the public always accords to
whatever is good in the amusement line.
The negro minstrel is an institution entirely outside
of the pale of commonplace people. He talks differ-
ently from other people, acts differently, dresses
differently. A " gang of nigger singers " can be
identified three blocks away by an ordinary observer
of human nature. They have a fondness for high and
shining silk hats that are reflected in the glaze of their
patent-leather, low-quarter shoes every time they pull
up their light trousers to look at their red or clocked
silk stockmgs. Their clothes are of a minstrelsy cut,
and like the party who came to town with rings on her
372 THE MINSTREL BOYS.
fingers and rings on her toes, they must have tlieir
fingers covered with amethysts or cluster-diamond
ornaments, and they rarely ever fail to display a
"spark" in their gorgeous shirt fronts. They arc
" mashers " of the most pronounced type on the stage
and off, and just as soon as they take possession of a
small town, it is safe to say that all the feminine
hearts lying around loose will be corraled within
twenty-four hours of their arrival. They are as gen-
erous now as they were years ago, and few of them
save a cent for the frequently mentioned rainy day.
The very best of them have died in poverty, and found
graves only through the charit\^ of friends. Johnny
Diamond and his partner, Jim Sanford, the former of
whom helped Barnum in his first steps along the road
to fortune, both died in the same Philadelphia alms-
house. They had commanded l)ig salaries, but dressed
flashily and lived fast, and when the rainy day came
they had to run for shelter to a pul)lic charity. Very
few performers who die in poverty now are allowed
to seek any other than the charity of their i)r()fessional
brethren. The Benevolent and Protective Order of
Elks takes care of the unfortunates, assisting them
trenerouslv while livinir and j;ivin<2: them decent burial
at their death.
As I said, the minstel boy is an irresistiljle " masher."
His particular weakness is women, with wine often
only a little behind. He lives at as rapid a rate
as his salary will allow, and turns night into day l)y
♦' taking in the town " after the performance. They
frequently get into scandalous history owing to the
promiscuousness with which they pick up with
petticoats, and tlieir amours get them into great
trouble. Women seem to have a lavish fondness for
the end-man, and juany of them have left husband,
THE MINSTREL BOYS.
373
cliildrcn, and home to follow the fortunes of a fickle
minstrel. The story of" the Chicago gambler's wife
who ran off with Billy Arlington is still fresh in the
minds of the people of the city by the lake, and still
"YOU ARE THE SORT OF A MAN I LIKE.
>i
fresher is that of the St. Louis demi-mondaine who
sold out her house to be always near her " Johnny,"
who, I think, was one of the Big Four.
A mash that created a sensation, though, was one
374 THE MINSTREL BOYS.
that (lovelopod in a New York Bowery theatre, one
night, when a young woman elegantly attired jumped
out of a private box, and embracing a performer who
was just finishing a banjo solo, shouted in a voice that
was clear and loud, " You're the sort of a man I like !"
The audience cheered lustily and the young woman
accepted the applause with a courtesy, while the ban-
joist staggered into the wings, too much amazed to be
flattered. A young man from whose side the lady had
made her leap upon the stage, succeeded with some
difficulty in coaxing her back into the box and the
show went on. The pair had been dining and wining
together, and the young gentleman had not been as at-
tentive to his companion as she thought i)ro[)er. So
she had chosen the original method of at once re-
bukinix and shaming him. She succeeded. He did not
dure to look at another woman on or off the stajje
again until the curtain fell.
Those who have never witnessed the rehearsal of a
minstrel company can have but a very faint idea of the
amount of worry and vexation to which the manager
is subjected before he becomes satisfied that the com-
pany has mastered the work so that it is in a condi-
tion to present to the public. The scene at a dramatic
rehearsal is tlic scene of perfect peace and harmony
compared with that of a minstrel comi)any. The dif-
ference is caused by the fact that dramatic; performers
study their lines and business carefully, and have the
idea constantly before them that they must adhere to
the text and tlic author's ideas closely, while minstrels,
or " nigg(!r singers " as they are called l)y members of
the profession, work with only one end in view, and that
is, to be funny. A minstrel having a speech of a dozen
lines will mukv. it twenty-live times anil never make it
twice alike. Every time ho speaks it he will drop
THE MINSTREL BOYS. 375
out something or insert something which the author
did not intend to be there. The result is that a man-
ager superintending a rehearsal is in hot water, figura-
tively, all the time. If he storms and swears at the
performers, he only makes matters worse, and, there-
fore while he is inwardly boiling with vexation he must
retain a calm exterior and appear as smiling as a June
morning. There have been well authenticated cases
where minstreb managers have been driven to strons:
drink by the intense strain upon their mental faculties
occasioned by superintending rehearsals. These cases,
however, are rare.
Through the courtesy of Manager J. A. Gulick, I
had the pleasure, last spring, of witnessing a rehearsal
of Haverly's Mastodon Minstrels. I took a seat under
the shadow of the balcony to watch developments, and
passed ten or fifteen minutes in inspecting the dull,
dismal aspect of the house. Everything was quiet and
oppressively sombre. Occasionally a scrub woman
who was working a broom in the dress circle would
bark one of her shins against one of the iron chair-
frames and sit down and howl in a subdued tone, but
beyond this there was nothing to break the stillness
until the members of the company began to arrive.
Presently the orchestra came in and began to tune up
their instruments to a condition proper for the promul-
gation of sweet strains, and then the comedians and
singers came sauntering in on the stage. Apparently,
the first duty of each and every one of them upon get-
ting out of the wings, was to execute a shuffle, cock
his hat over his left eye and swagger off up the stage
with a satisfied smile. Each having been successfully
delivered of his matutinal shuffle, and having satisfied
himself that he hadn't contracted the " string-halt "
during the night, all seated themselves and awaited the
376 THE MlNsTliEL BOYS.
appearance of the nianngev. Divested of their burnt
cork and stage toggery, the company looked more like
a collection of Avell-to-do young men in the commer-
cial walks of life than minstrel performers. All
looked as if they had passed a comfortable night, and
had not indulged in those revels which are erroneously
supposed to be inseparable from the life of a minstrel.
Consequently I was bound to conclude that they had
said their prayers at 11 : 30, aud at midnight were
snoring the snores of the innocent and blessed. The
onl}'^ member of the company Avho lo(;ked as if ho
might have gone wrong on the previous night was Frank
Cushman. His right eye was l)loodshot, and he had a
protuberance on his forehead over the optic such as
might be raised by the kick of a mule. His condition
was afterward explained by the fact that in attempting
to make a " funny fall " iu " Uncle Tom's Cabin," on
the night })revious, he had made a miscue and had re-
ceived a genuine fall, striking on his head. Suspicion
was therefore allayed, and I became satisfied tliat Cush-
man, too, hud said his prayers and had gone regularly
to bed unloaded.
Pr()m[)tly at eleven o'clock, the hour set for rehear-
sal, Manager Gulick arrived and j)roceeded at once to
business by delivering an address to the orchestra
leader : —
"Now we don't want any break in tliis first jiart
finish to-niijht. You want to make that first chorus
very forte and then work it ofi' gradually very })iano.
Then when they all come on you want a short wait and
then a crash — see ? ' '
The leader nodd<'d to iudicate that he saw.
•'Then," resumed Mr. Ciulick, " when you hear the
pistol fired, woik in that (e um iddle de te um ah liddle
um t iddle tah — seci"'
THE MINSTREL BOYS. 377
The leader cagain saw, and the manager continued :
"Then when you come to 'The girl I left behind
me,' put in la la turn liddle la la tum liddle ah — see ? "
But without waiting to see whether the leader saw
or not the manager turned to the company with:
" Now, boys, get down to business and we'll rehearse
that first part finish."
Then there was a rush of the " 40-count 'em"
down to the foot-lights, and everybody began to talk.
Each man struck a different subject and a different key
apparently, and the finish appeared to be so thoroughly
jumbled up that it seemed an impossible task to
straighten it out again. But the performance appeared
to be an adjunct of the rehearsal, for when it was fin-
ished Mr. Gulick took his seat at the foot-lights, while
the company arranged itself in the usual semi-circle,
with E. M. Kayne, the interlocutor, in the centre.
More instructions were given by the manager, when a
young man rushed in and performed the pantomime of
handing Mr. Kayne a telegram, which the latter pan-
tomimically opened and calmly announced that he had
just received news that he had just won the prize of
$50,000 in the Kentucky State lottery. He didn't
make as much fuss over it as any other man would over
finding a half-dollar on the street. The news must
have pleased him, for he remarked : —
"Boys, I'm in luck."
" What is it? " said Billy Rice.
" Fifty thousand dollar prize," replied Mr. Kayne.
" What did I tell you? " said Rice.
" Take us out and treat us," said Cushman
" Didn't 1 tell you I was a Mascot," said another.
They all called for lemonade, and Mr. Kayne compro-
mised the matter by agreeing to take them all to Europe
on a pleasure trip if they would pack their trunks in
378
THE MINSTREL 1J9YS.
five minutes. A chorus was Iheu sung and tho trunks
were announced packed. Jimmy Fox then camo
forward and announced that he was ctiptaiu of tho
Pinafore. The other members of the company must
•^-i-.
JIM CROW.
have been looking for him, lor they shot liim dead with
a vociferous " banir I " and tlien i)roceeded to sinjr
•' Gh)ry Ilallclujali," over liis coi'pse. This brought
him to life aj^ain and he was readmitted to the excur-
THE MINSTREL BOYS. 379
sion party. One of the vocalists then sang "Old
Folks at Home," and at its conclusion Mr. Kayne asked
if there was no one else to whom they wished to say
" good-by," but all responded, " No, not one."
"Yes, there is," said Mr. Kayne, and the orchestra
opened with " The Girl I Left Behind Me."
The rehearsal was interspersed with very sweet little
melodies, which redeemed such verses as this :
Our trunks are packed and our passage is paid,
Sail o'er the ocean blue ;
Of the briny wave we're not afraid,
Sail o'er the ocean blue.
Then Cushman sang ; —
Oh, fare you well, St. Louis girls,
Fare you well for awhile ;
We'll sail away in the month of May
And come back in July.
Rice retaliated with : —
Fare you well, you dandy coons,
We'll show you something grand;
We'll sail away o'er the ocean blue,
Till we reach the promised land.
There was nothing strikingly classical about the
words, but the melody was charming, and covered them
with a charitable cloak.
The first part finish having been rehearsed, Manager
Gulick discovered some flaws in it and ordered it to be
done over again. On hearino; this the man at tiie bass
viol looked up piteously at Billy Rice and asked : —
"Are we going through it again? "
" Of course," replied Rice ; " do you want to rest
all the time? "
This question was not answered and the bass viol
dropped into a seat apparently completely discouraged.
380 THE MINSTREL 1JOY8.
The piece was rehearsed, not once only, but half a
dozen times, and when it was pronounced all right the
bass viol gave a sigh of relief that shook the building.
Several songs were then rehearsed, during which
everybody was busy. At one side of the stage the
quartette was singing, Cushman was practising an end
song, the orchestra was at work on an overture, three
or four men were brushing up on a farce, two song-
and-dance men wore inventing new steps, and Charley
Dockstader was reading tiie Clipper. It was an ex-
ceedingly lively scene, and there was noise enough to
wake the dead. Vocal and instrumental music fought
a pitched battle, while the dancers hammered the stage
with their feet as if by way of aiiplauso. A boiler-
shop is a haven of rest beside a minstrel rehearsal at
this stage.
The rehearsal lasted nearly two hours without a
rest, and was as utterly unlike a minstrel performance
as can well be imagined. There was nothing particu-
larly amusing in it except its oddity, and yet when it
was presented with black faces and varied costumes it
caused roar upon roar of tiie heartiest laughter, be-
cause those who saw it then had not seen how the per-
formance was constructed.
CHAPTER XXVII.
PANTOMIME.
There are two kinds of clowns familiiir to people
who patronize amusements — the clown who juggles
old jokes in the circus ring, and the clown whose
only language is that of facial expression, and
whose grins and grimaces together with his extraordi-
nary antics and white face are more acceptable to and
interpretable by childhood than the ancient and petri-
fied humorisms of his brother laugh-maker of the saw-
dust circle. There is no circus clown in the world
could stretch the heart-strings of an audience as far and
hold them there longer than George L. Fox, the king
of pantomimic merry-makers. His was a face readable
as the pages of a book printed in good large type, and
the wonderful swift chamjes that came over it were like
CD
fleecy clouds and sunshine chasing each other across a
summer sky. Poor Fox, who sent a thrill of joy into
the hearts of thousands of little folks and caused their
rosy lips to over-bubble with silvery laughter, his was
a* hard, an undeserved fate — death in a madhouse,
without a glint of reason to light him on his journey
across the dark river. He has left no successor more
worthy of his place than George H. Adams, whose tal-
ent obtained him the recognition of Adam Forepaugh,
the showman, with whom he is now in partnership.
Frazier and clowns of minor merit fill the rest of the
places, but Adams is at the top of the heap, and may be
fitly termed the Grimaldi of to-day.
382
PANTOMIME.
GEOKGK n. AlJAMS IV HUMITV DUMITY.
PANTOMIME. 383
It is pleasant to visit a theatre during the progress
of a pantomime. The house is filled with old and
young in equal proportions, or if there is any prcpon-
derence it is on the side of the little folks, who clamber
up on the backs of chairs and laugh freely and sweetly as
the birds in the forest sing, every time they catch sight
of the chalked head of the clown and the gray tuft
standing like a turret above poor old Pantaloon's wig.
And the old people laugh all the heartier because the
innocent young people have their hearts and mouths
filled with joy. The pantomime may be " Humpty
Dumpty" or "The Magic Flute" or "The Merry
Miller" — call it by Avhatever name you will, an
intense interest is taken in it, and new enjoj^ment is
found in every performance. The tricks are the same,
the mechanical effects identical with those of every
other pantomime you may have seen, and even the
specialty sketches that divide the acts of the dumb
show seem to be of very close kindred with those of
former attractions of this kind. Still everybody enjoys
the fun just as many jDeople laugh at the " chestnuts "
— vulgariter , old jokes — of the man in motley attire,
who tries to make the patrons of the circus feel happy.
It makes no difference to the miniature men and
women who are Humpty Dumpty' s best friends and
admirers, how the mechanical effects of a pantomime are
produced. They do not care much to know that the
pig Humpty Dumpty and Pantaloon stretch across the
width of the stage in an endeavor to tear it from each
other, has a rubber body ; that the bricks the clown
throws at everybody are only paper boxes ; that the
trick pump is worked from the side scenes with a
string ; that the clothes which suddenly, and as if by
some invisible influence, vanish into the sides of houses
or up through windows have light but strong black
384 PANTOMIME.
thread, which the little ones cannot sec at a distance, at-
tached to them ; the big policeman is to them a stern
and gigantic reality ; and it aflbrds them more fun to
imagine every time llumpty throws or makes a blow at
anybody, that the stinging sound is a sure indication that
his aim was well taken — they do not know that the
sound as of receiving a blow is the result of slapping
the hands together. All the simple illusions of the
scene and of the action are to them actual facts, and
they appear all the more ridiculous and arc all the
more eflective on this accomit. AVhen llumpty
Dumpty dives through the side of a house, disappear-
ing behind, there arc men in waiting to catch him, and
when he sits down to read his newspaper and the can-
dle begins to grow beyond his reach, then falling as ho
attempts to go higher with a suddcMi bang, and the
clown comes tumblinfj down after it as Jill did after
Jack when they went up the hill for the bucket of
beer, few of the big or little people know that the can-
dle runs down through one of the legs of the table and
is all wood except the waxen bit at the top. All these
little mysteries have their charms for the years of
childhood, and in no country are the pleasures of the
pantomime so fuUj^-ecognized as in England, where on
BoximrNi'dit — the 2(!lh of Docembcr — children crowd
the theatres to witness the Christmas pantomime. In
some theatres here the custom of providing pantomime
for the Christmas holidays is adhered to, but as there
are not enough Grimaldis or Foxes or Adamses or
Fraziers to go around, the supply being very limited,
we cannot compete with England in this respect.
As Adams is the only pantomimist who can lay any
claim to the mantle of George L. Fox — if clowns can
be said to have mant Ics — a short biography may not bo
out of i)laco. He is twenty-eight years old, is a native
PANTOMIME. 385
of Eno-lancl, unci is the eldest son of Charles H.
Adams, one of the best Pantaloons in the country.
lie comes from a family of circus people, being a de-
scendant of the famous Cookes, riders and clowns,
and is a cousin of W. W. Cole, the circus manager.
He was apprenticed to the manager of Astley's, in
London, when he was six years of age, and remained
there eight years. After appearing as clown with a
circus in Denmark, he came to America, and for sev-
eral years travelled with different circuses. His first
appearance as clown in the pantomime was in Brooklyn,
New York, in 1872, under the management of Tim
Donnelly, who gave a pantomime every year during the
Christmas holidaj^s. His father was the stage man-
ager for Donnelly, and suggested to George the idea of
playing clown. George refused at first, but finally at
his father's earnest solicitation decided to go on. He
made an unmistakable hit, and from that time deserted
the sawdust arena and adopted the stage. After sev-
eral successful seasons with Nick Roberts and Tony
Denier he last season accepted an offer of partnership
with Adam Forepaugh to run a show under his own
name.
In the last Christmas number of the London Graphic
I found the following excellent article on " Boxino"
Night" as the little folks of London enjoy it: "The
very first night of anticipated pleasure has come to
nine-tenths of the little ones who gaze upon the scene
in silent wonder and astonishment. Imagination in its
wildest dreams never pictured anything so wonderful as
this. There have been little theatricals at home, plays
in the back drawing-room ; some fairy tale has been
enacted for which kind sisters have supplied the ward-
robe, whilst mamma has presided over the piano or-
chestra. It was good fun to crawl across the mimic
3.Sn PANTOMIME.
stage ill u hcartli-nig, pretending to be a wolf or l)t':ir,
and to hear the laujrhter of kind friends in front ; but
all that home amusement, the curiosity and contriv-
ances, the songs and dances were, indeed, child's play
when compared to a real tlicatre on Boxing Night.
What importance is given to the child b}^ being con-
sidered old enough to sit up so late as this ; what a
sense of mystery and wonderment to be driven through
the lighted streets ; to see the decorated shops set out
with Christmas presents and New Year's gifts ; and to
behold for the first time, the bright electric light on
the bridges and embankment ! But this is far better
than all, and only a very little removed from fairyland.
IIow the myriad lights in the great chandeliers glisten
and sparkle, and the stage foot-lights dazzle ; how
splendidly the orchestra seems to play ; and hark ! the
boys in the gallery are taking up the tune, and singing
together with wonderful swing and precision. One
comic sonii: and street tune follows another; the band
suggests and the young musicians tiUvC it ui) with a
will. Just now they had been a pelting of the pit with
orange peel — all in good fun, of course. The lads in
their shirt sleeves had whistled and screamed, and
saluted friends in distant corners of the gallery ; but
now all this horse l)lay is quieted b}' music and melody.
It is l>oxiiig Night, and tli(!re must be patriotism as
well as i)leasurc. ' Rule Britannia,' ' God bless the
Prince of Wales,' and ' God Save the Queen,' arc sung
from thousands of lusty throats, and all the audience
rise to their feet, waving hats and handkerchiefs.
Loyalty is as necessary as love at Christmas-time.
And what lias that good old wizard Blanchard prejiared
for the liaj)py childi-cn? He must be as immortal as
Father Christmas, ami certainly is (piite as popular.
He will be the guide iip tin- rocks of romance, and
away to the fields of fairyland. He will lead his hapjiy
PANTOMIME. 387
followers amidst ogres and giants and elves and fays,
to wizard castles and enchanted dells ; now you will be
at the bottom of the sea, where lovely queens wave
sea-weed wands ; and now on land amidst the yellow
corn-fields and the bluebell lanes. Tlicre will be song-
and dance, and the madcap pranks of thousands of
children, liliputian armies and glittering armor, poe-
try and processions, hobby-horses and the dear old
Clown and Harlequin and Pantaloon supporting ' airy
fairy ' Columbine, if they would only ring that
prompter's bell and pull up tluit tantalizing curtain.
The noise is hushed, the music stops, the overture is
over — but wait.
*' What are they doing behind the curtain? There
are beating hearts also in the manufactory of pleasure.
Christmas-time means food and raiment to the o-reat
majority of those who are awaiting the prompter's
signal. They have come from courts and alleys, from
cold, comfortless rooms, from care and poverty, from
watching and from want, to this great busy hive that
uncharitable people abuse and ridicule. Times have
been bad, the winter has advanced too soon, wao-es
have been slack ; but all will be mended now that
Christmas has come again. Hearts beat lightly under
the prince's tunics and the dancers' bodices, for every
mickle makes a muckle, and there is work here, from
the proud position of head of the Amazonian army to
the humble individual who earns a shillinir a nisfht for
throwing carrots in a crowd and returning slaps in a
rally. And the training and discipline of the rehear-
sals up to this anxious moment have not been without
their advantage. Punctuality, silence, order, and
sobriety are the watchwords here. There have been
no idling, dawdling, and philandering, as many silly
people imagine. Even the little children have learned
something, perhaps their letters, perhaps the art of
388 PANTOMIME.
singing in nnison, certainly tlic merit of being smart
and nscful. But now it is the great examination day.
The lessons are over, and the result is soon to bo
known. What a wild fantastic scene it is — a very
carnival of costumes. Fairies and hop-o'-my-thnml)s,
monkeys, and all the miscellaneous mixture of the
menagerie, gorgeous knights in armor and spangled
syrens, Titania and her train, i)astel)oard chariots,
wands and crystal fountains, fruits and forest trees,
mothers, dressers, carpenters, and costermongers for
the crowd, all mixed up in ajiparent confusion, but in
reality as well drilled and disciplined as an army pre-
pared for action. All belong to some separate depart-
ment oi- division ; there is a leader for every scpiad,
who is responsible for his men, and if anything goes
wrong a prompt fine is a very wholesome punishment.
It has been weary work during the last few rehearsals,
and certain scenes have had to be repeated again and
again. The testing of the scenery has delayed the
action, and it has been late enoui2;h before these busy
bees have irot to bed. But the excitement of the mo-
ment gives new vitality. The night has come, and
evervone is bound to do his or her best. Everything
is smart and new, and the girls and children are proud
of their costumes, in whitii they strut about admir-
ingly. The stiige manager has recovered his amiability,
and calls everyone " my dear." A rai)id, business-
like glance is cast over the various scenes to see that
everything is straight and ship-shape ; the reports come
np fi'om the various departments to say there are no
defaulters. The gas man is at his i)ost, and the lime-
liirht man at his station. The ballet master, with his
tlag in hand, is standing ready on his stool. Keady ?
Yes, sir! is the answer. Up go the foot-lights with a
flare, a Ixll rings, the curtain rises, and th(! liappy
people before and behind the Christmas curtain meet."
CHAPTER XXVIII.
VARIETY DI^^S AND CONCERT SALOONS.
Outside of the leoitimate theatres there is a larsce
variety of places of amusement — that is, they are
called places of amusement, but the fumes of vile
tobacco, the odor of stale beer, the fiery breath of
cheap whiskey, the sight of filthy women and filthier
men, and the most excruciating and torturesome kind
of music, all combine to make the resort anything but
pleasant and the while the incidents that attract the
visitor's attention are anvthinoj but amusins;. There
is, of course, no complaint of this sort to urge against
the first-class variety theatres. These cater in a modest
way to a low standard of intellect, but usually their
programmes are chaste enough, and unless a person
has an aversion to having beer spattered over his
clothes by unhandy waitei's while ministering to the
thirsty wants of a neighbor in the same row, or objects
to the attention of the gay girls who open wine in the
private boxes and flirt with the people in theparquette,
he will find a first-class variety show as pleasant a place
as a good, long,- mixed programme with the Glue
Brothers in song and dance at one end, the Irish Trip-
lets, in " select vocalisms and charming terpsichorean
evolutions," in the middle, and a lugubrious sketch at
the other end can make it. By some mysterious law
known only to variety performers, the variety stage
only about once in a century produces anything new or
anything attractive. In the good old days of the bal-
(389)
300
VAKIETY ])IVi:S AND COXCEUT SALOONS.
let there was dniwing power in the display of shapely
limbs and the graceful music-of-niotion lik(; manner in
which the girls tip-toed or piroutted across the stage ;
or when tho variety Ihcah-o was as much the homo of
P^^^i }SMi
FENCING SCENE IN 15LACK CROOK.
spectacle as the legitimate houses pretended to he,
and on the \':iu(l(villc stage scenes were i)rcsented
that belonged to the same class of labyrinthine scen<'ry
and profuse female beauty that the ♦' I'l.uk (^rook "
VARIETY DIVES AND CONCEU'J? SALOONS. 3U1
and "The Green Huntsman" were the representa-
tives of. When spectacles were the rage and the fenc^
ino- scene in the " Bhick Crook " would set the boys
at the top of the house wild with joy, the variety
theatre had among the bright stars of its stage actors
and actresses who are now among the most popular,
and certainly among the heaviest money-makers, who
appearin the legitimate houses.
Joe Emmett graduated from the variety theatre.
Gus. Williams was a shining light on the same stage.
J. C. Williamson was a variety artist. Geo. D. Knight
did " Dutch business " in the minor theatres before he
got to be famous as Otto. I recollect having seen
Knight play Rip Van Winkle in Deagle's old variety
theatre on Sixth Street, in St. Louis, and he played it
well — not like Jefferson, of course, but it was his first
attempt at the part, and if Jefferson did any better the
first time he must not have improved very much since.
This Avas twelve years ago. Mrs. Geo. Knight
(Sophie Worrell) danced on a concert saloon stage in
San Francisco. So did Lotta, and so did Mrs. Wil-
liamson. Den Thompson, whose Joshua Whitcomb is
a perfect picture of the New England farmer, first tried
this same character in the variety^ theatre, and Neil
Burgess and the " Widow Bedotte " were first intro-
duced to the public as the tail-end of a nigger-singing
and specialty programme.
Those were the palmy days of the variety show
before negro ministrelsy had grown to its present
enormous proportions and before plays were written so
as to take in a whole variety entertainment, and under
the disguise of comedy or farce or burlesque foist a
lot of specialty people from a first-class stage upon
an intelligent audience. The musico- mirthful pieces
that began to blossom forth in 1880 made a heavy
392
VARIETV DIVES AND CONCEKl' SALOONS.
demand upon the resources of the variety houses, and
within a year threaten to leave them entirely at tho
mercy of*' ham-fats," as the lower order of this kind
f-,^^^^<-.
i\
MAD. THEO.
of talent is de.sigimtod. "Fun on the Bristol " and
fifty more flimsy patchworks of the same kind wero
sailing around tho country in a sliort time, and every
VARIETY DIVES AND COKCEUT SALOONS. 393
" team " that had a specialty act of fifteen minutes
duration wanted a play built to fit it and went around
telling friends that they guessed they'd go starring
next season. A great many of them did not go, but a
great many others did. The worst were left behind,
and the result was poor variety programms and in
consequence poor patronage for them.
I picked up a programme the other day, belonging
to what was once a first-class house, and is so still in
all except the standard of the performance, and found
such old and worn-out features as a lightning crayon
artist and a lightning change artist, both of which are
so threadbare that even a ten-cent theatre wouldn't
care to give them stage room. It is an easy step from
this kind of thing down to the dives. The latter,
as an institution, flourishes wider and pays better than
places of less savory notoriety. There is such a charm
to vice that even the saintly do not hesitate to linger
in its neighborhood a while, and take a sniff of its
pungent atmosphere. Anybody who drops into Harry
Hill's place in New York, any night in the week, will
see some remarkably churchy looking gentlemen stand-
ing around studying the aspect of the establishment
and dwelling with melting ej^es upon some of the
painted faces that look up from the beer tables
ranged at one side of the hall. A correspondent who
visited Harry Hill's very recently, gives the following
description of- the place, its proprietor and its fre-
quenters : " Harry Hill's grows bigger as its notoriety
extends with years, but it never changes. It is not a
bar-room, not a concert saloon, not a pretty waiter-
girl establishment, and not a free-and-easy. None of
these terms describe it, for it is all those things in one
and at once — big second-story room, containing a bar,
a theatrical stage, which can quickly be made into a
304
VARIETY DIVES AND CONCERT SALOONS.
prize ring, a l)are space for dancing, tables, seats, a
balcony, and a few so-called wine-rooms. There are
always as many women as men in the place. The
women are admitted by a private entrance, free. Men
GUS WILLIAMS AS JXO. MISHLER.
pass through a neglected l)ar-room on the ground floor
at a cost of twenty-five cents. Prosperity has added a
mansard roof and a clock-tower to the original struc-
ture, and Hill has taken in an adjoining building, and
VARIETY DIVES AND CONCERT SALOONS. 3^5
turned its best apartments into billiard and pool-rooms
and a shooting gallery. Let us go in through the bar-
room, up a winding stair and suddenly into the glare
and bustle and merriment of the so-called theatre. On
the stage two women are exhibiting as pugilists, with
boxing-gloves, high-necked short dresses, soft, fat,
bare arms, and a futile effort to look very much in
earnest, and as if they did not realize how apparent it
was that their s^reatest effort was to avoid hurtinc^ one
another's breasts or bruising one another's faces.
" In the chairs around the tables are many men, and
an equal number of women. The men are mainly
young, and a majority seemtobecountvy 3'ouths or store
clerks. There are others evidently country men or for-
eigners. The women wear street-dress, hats and all.
They are Americans, often of Irish or German extrac-
tion. As a rule they are not pretty, but they are
quiet and mannerly. They know the cast-iron rules
of the house — no loud or profane talking, no rt)ud
lauirliinji:, no qiiarreliuir, "no lovins;." These are
printed and hang on the walls, and all who go there
either know or speedily find out that the slightest
breach of them results in prompt expulsion from the
house. All are drinking, and many of the women
are smoking big cigars or tiny cigarettes. Other
women, without hats or sacques, but wearing big
white aprons, serve as waiters and as bartenders.
" Harry Hill himself, a smoth-faced old man, broad,
bio- and muscular, who shares with Lester Wallack
the secret of looking twenty years younger than he is,
sits at a table with a detective and a chief of police
from some suburb. Hill is always there, and is ever
entertaining distinguished strangers. Clergymen from
the cities drop in at the rate of one a night. The
women, as they come and go, stop and salute or speak
396 VARIETY DIVES AND CONCERT SALOONS.
with Hill. lie knows them ;ill, is kind to :ill, and is
liked by all. He has nothing to do with them or
their allairs, however, his phice being merely their
exchange, and their dnty being merely to behave
while there. The boxers bow and retire, and a yonng
woman, who was a few minutes before at one of the
tables with a l)roker, who was opening champagne,
now faces the foot-li<2;hts in a short silk skirt, l)aro
arms, bare head and red clogs. She sprinkles white
sand on the boards from a gilt cornucopia, the music
of a piano and three violins strike up, and she rattles
her heels and toes through a clog dance. It is a waltz
tune that she is keeping time to, and a tall young
woman of extremely liaughty mien and rich apparel
seizes a shy and seedy little product of the pavement
and whirls her round and round in the bare space
on the floor. The lookers-on gather there, and a
callow stripling from the country, without previous
notice or formality, grasps a snuhnosed, saucy-looking
girl in the throng and joins the dancers.
" < Some of these girls 'as bin a-coming 'ere ten or
fifteen years,' says Harry Hill, 'and looks better to-
day than others which left their 'omes a 'alf year ago.
Hit's hall hacordin' to 'ow they take to drink. Hif
they go too farst they're sure to go too far.'
"Do they reform? Well, Mr. Hill says there arc
so many notions of what reform really is, that he
can't say. Some of them reform and become mis-
tresses when they get a chance, and some of them
reform and return and reform again by spells. He
points out one whom he calls Nellie, and says she
went away and w^is going to lead a strictly honest life,
disappeared for six months, and the other night came
back again.
VARIETY DIVES AND CONCERT SALOONS. 397
" I kept my eye on Nellie, and, needing no introduc-
tion, seized a chance to talk with her.
" ' I got married, and was as straight as a string for
six months,' said she ; ' but I had misfortune, and
had no other way to support myself but to come back
here.'
Husband leave you ? '
' He got caught cracking a dry goods store, and is
up for two years.' "
The patrons of the variety "dives" are usually
young men, clerks, salesmen, and sometimes the
trusted employee of a bank or broker's office will get
" mashed " upon one of the almost naked women who
appear upon the stage, and will thereafter be numbered
among the patrons of the resort. Those who have
gone into the private boxes once and find the girls
obliging enough to sit on their knees and ask them to
treat will go there again if they can possibly get the
fifty cents that is asked as an admission fee.
Sometimes a party of really Christian men unfamil-
iar with city ways will get into a variety dive by mis-
take, and what is more, into the boxes. The jrlarino-
sign over the front of the house which simply an-
nounces that the place is a theatre attracts them to the
box-office.
" Say, Mister, what do you tax us to go in? " one
of the party asks.
" Tickets are twenty-five, thirty-five and fifty cents,"
answers the dapper little man in the box-office who
looks as if he ought to be a bar-keeper or a barber.
" Give us five of your half-a-dollar chairs," says the
spokesman, throwing down his money, and they are
forthwith led to seats in the private boxes, which are
no more than long galleries walled in and having two
or three windows to which the occupants crowd when
398 VARIETV DIVES AND CONCERT SALOONS.
anything interesting is going Ibnvard on the stage.
As I have already said these boxes arc connected by
doors with the stairc ami the serio-comic vocalist who
has a few minutes to spare will loiter in to strike
somebody for a drink.
" Say, baby, can't I have a wet?" one of the female
wrestlers remarks as she plumps herself down in her
tights on the quivering knee of a weak little fellow who
appears young enough to be fond of molasses candy
yet, and throws her arms around his neck and hugs
him to her tlahby breast violently enough to disarrange
the black cnrl}^ hair he had slicked down at the barber
shop just before he came in.
"A what?" he asks, trying to get his neck suffi-
ciently released to be at least comfortal)le.
"A drink, darling," and she hugs him again and
begins playing with a little curl ever his forehead.
" Why, of course you can," is the overwhelmed
young man's reply.
Now she looks fondly into his eyes and with the most
affectionate expression at her command asks : "And
how about my partner, baby. Can't she have a
diink?"
" I sui)pose so," responds the victim ; and there i« a
loud shouting at the stage-door for " Ida," or some-
body else, and Ida, knowing what she is wanted for,
liiiiiics to till! spot. In iIh' meantime " Johnnie," the
waiter, has been summoned.
" Give me a port wine sangaree," says Ida's part-
ner.
".Vnd give me a stone fence" (cider and brandy),
says Ida.
"And what are you going to driidv, l)aby?" the
wrestler sitting on his knee asks.
" (Jive me glass of heer," says the " baby," in a tone
VARIETY DIVES AND CONCERT SALOONS.
31) D
saffioicntly disconsolate to suggest that he was afraid
he might not* have enough money to pay for the treat.
O
H
M
H
W
ft
P
M
w
ft
o
One night a party of saintly looking grangers from
Indiana, — five of them, — who appeared as if they were
400 VAKIETY DIVES AND CONCERT SALOONS.
a delegation to some sort of a religious conven-
tion, got into a Bowery dive by some mistake, but
made no mistake in remaining there. They got in
early and it was late when they left. The whola thing
appeared novel, startling to them. They had never
before seen so much unstripped womanhood exposed
to the naked ej'e. They hired a cheap opera-glass
from the peanut boy, and they bought "pop" the
whole night long. During the first part, when all the
girls ;yul the "nigger" end-men sit in a circle and
sing dismal songs and deal out smutty jokes, the
grangers were in a perfect ecstacy of wonder and ad-
miration for the shortness of the women's dresses and
the symmetry of their padded liml)s ; but when the
first part was over and a serio-comic singer came trip-
ping out upon the stage without any dress at all on —
nothing but a bodice, trunks and flesh-colored tights —
and sang "Tickled Him Under the Chin," they were
in a frenzy and did not know what to do with their
hands, or how to sit still, because the singer kept
throwing glances in the direction of their box. Then
came the supreme exaltation of their feelings ; the
serio-comic danced over to the box as she sang, and ac-
tually tickled the most clerical member of the quin-
tette on his fat, white chin, while the four others looked
on in astonishment, and the audience ("airly howled.
The grangers were " guyed" pitilessly by the audi-
ence, l)ut they paid little, if any, attention to it. As
soon as the serio-comic had done her "turn" she
rushed for their box, and before long the five Iloosiers
were as happy as the lark when it trills its song to the
morning.
Tiie " dive " audiences are mixed in their character,
as has been already suggested, and the proximity of a
well-dressed young man to a crowd of hoodlums in
M'LLE GENEVIEVE.
VARIETY DIVES AND CONCERT SALOONS. 401
jeans pants and braided coats often precipitates a row.
Scarcely a night passes in the flash variety shows that
there is not some trouble. A " bouncer " is connected
with each establishment, whose business it should be
to quell disturbances, bat who, like hot-headed Irish
policemen, do more towards increasing the dimensions
of a row than forty other men could do. It is bad policy
to attempt open criticism of the performers or perform-
ance in one of these dens. A hiss will attract the at-
tention of the bouncer, who will come down to the
sibilant offender and say : —
*' Young man, do ye expect us to give ye Sary Burn-
hart an' Fannie Divenpoort and Ed' in Booth fur
twinty-five sints. Af ye don't loike the show lave it,
but af ye open yer mug ag'in, or say so much as
' Boo,' I'll put ye fwhere ye'll have plinty toime to
cool yersel' afi*."
If the oflender dares to argue the point the
"bouncer" will catch him by the neck, and then a
strui2:o;le ensues, canes are flourished, the audience
rise to their feet, some of the girls run in fright from
the stage, and there is pandemonium in the place for
ten or fifteen minutes, by the end of which time the
" bouncer" has taken his man out, and returning to
business, triumphantly answers a question as to the
whereabouts of the hisser : —
" Oh, I left him lyin' out there in the gutther
where the collar '11 come along an' get 'im."
Occasionally there will be an incident of a more
dangerous kind, but tinged slightly with romance. It
is related that a cowboy went into a variety show in
Marshal, Texas, one night and made quite a scene.
His "mash" was a "chair sweater" in the show.
Entering the place one night considerably under the
2S
402
vauii:ty i)ive8 and concert saloons.
iiiiluence of hriiic, he culled to his love in stentorian
tones : —
" Mtirj, get jour duds on and come with me."
*'Sh-h-]i!" said Mary.
ARMADO AM) JAQUENETTA.
Akm.: — I love thoo.
jAy.: — So I licard voii say.
Love's Labuur "Lost, Act I.. Scene 2,
•' Sh-h, iiothinir," was the lover's response. *' You
jest tog up quicker'u li — , or 1*11 dnii-c these glims."
VARIETY DIVES AND CONCERT SALOONS. 403
*'I'll be through in an hour," urged Mary pacift-
cally.
"This show'll be out sooner than that," was the
cowboy's answer, as he pulled his barker and began
shooting the tips off the side lights. He had just
emptied his " weapin " and was about loading up
again, when the frightened audience was reassured by
the stage manager stepping on the stage and saying,
"Mary, you are excused for the remainder of the
evening. Go dress right away."
A " chair sweater," or " stutter" as she is called out
West, is a girl who sits in the first part, and who has
nothing else to do than wear skirts short enouo-h to
display her limbs, and join in the choruses if she can
do so without knocking the life out of ^le selection.
After the first part she sits in the boxes and " works "
the boys for drinks. If she can't make anything in the
boxes she goes out into the audience — in the lowest
of these dens — and flits from one place to another
getting a drink here, and by that time "spotting"
somebody over there whom she esteems worthy of
" striking." She keeps this up all night, until the
after-piece — the cancan, or whatever else it may be —
is reached, w^ien she goes behind the scenes and ap-
pears on the stage in the same street costume she has
worn out in the audience. The " chair sweater's " lot
is not a happy one. While pursuing her sudorific vo-
cation she innocently imagines that she is making an
actress out of herself, and I guess she is — a " dive "
actress.
Now and then the "chair sweater" combines her
own business with that of her employer by selling her
own or other photographs to " grays, ^' Some of these
pictures are of the vilest kind, but they sell readily to
the patrons of the " dive," and as the sale is etfected
404 VARIETY DIVES AND CONCERT SALOONS.
quietly, even an honest granger now and then buys
cue, "just to show 'em up around the grocery."
Tho variety «' dive" usually ch)ses its performance
with a iiery and untamed cancan, all the people of the
LAURA DON.
company joining in the dance, the men usually in the
character costumes and " inakc-np " in which they
have ai)pear(!d l)erorc in their sketches or iu-ts.
Then follow tlif. orgies behind the scenes. Some-
BENEDICK AND BEATRICE.
Beatrice: — Talk with a man out of window? — a proper saying
Benedick:— Nay but Beatrice; —
Much Ado About Nothing, Act IV., Scene 1.
times it is a wine supper with champagne from the bar
of the house flowing so freely that the undressed
divinities do not hesitate to empty bottle after bottle
over their heads as if they were Roman candles, there-
by giving the assemblage a shower of Mumm's Extra
(405)
406 VARIETY DIVES AND CONCERT SALOONS.
Dry; or i)crh;ips tlicy will shiimpoo the swelled head of
one of the «reiitleineii.
Ill tlio wiiic-rooin, wlindi is an adjunct of all tlicso
VARIETY DIVES AND CONCERT SALOONS,
407
houses, juul which is a place that affords sechision to
those who want to be out of the way of meeting friends
THATCHER, PRIMROSE AND WEST.
or attracting the notice of strangers, many extraordi-
nary exploits are to be witnessed. Plenty of drink,
408 VAKIETY DIVES AM) COXCEUT SALOOXS.
however, is necessary to stiinul:itc the fun, and when
the girls get au old victim into their clutches they
"play" him so nicely that he believes the whole lot
A " IJOWEIiV ON' A "1.AI;K,
of them are in love with him, and every few minutes
comes the cry, *' Let's have another bottle," and they
Variety t>ivEs and concert saloons. 409
have it. They sit on his lap or phiy circus riding on
his shoulders, and until the last bottle has come, and
the victim has run dry of funds they keep him in good
humor ; then they show him the door, coldly say
*' Ta, ta ! Baldy," and laugh heartily at his verdant
innocence as he stao-o-ers away.
The man who allows any of these women — these
cancan dancers or " chair sweaters " — to entice him to
their home is lost. If he has money and they know it
they will not take him to their home, but to some
lodging-house with the proprietor of which the can-
can dancer is acquainted, and whom slie knows she
can trust. A pitcher of beer and a bit of drugging
for the victim's glass does the business. While she is
strokino; his beard and kissins^ the end of his nose the
drug is flowing gently into the goblet of beer. They
drink, and in a short time the soporific has its effect,
and the slumberins: man is relieved of his valuables
and cash. He appeals to the police, and they promise
to do something for him, but they don't. He sees the
cancan dancer ao-ain the next niijht but she knows
nothing about it. The proprietor of the lodging-house
is dumb as an oyster. All the victim can do is to
balance the account by putting experience on the debit
side of the ledger and damphoolishness on the other.
In New York the Bowery is the great j^lace for these
dives. There are any number of them, and the Bowery
actress who is brazen enough to smoke her cigarettes
in the street, especially when she is " on a lark," may
be distinguished by the boldness of her face and the
almost masculine atmosphere that surrounds her. She
seems to care for nobody and nothing except her small
dog and the loafer who spends her money, and looks
upon herself as the equal of the best woman in the
profession.
410
A'AlUEXr DIVES AND CONCEUT SALOONS.
The l)ov theatres whicli ilourish in all larsfc cities,
aiul which arc tlirty, tlingy miniature jjlaccs -with gal-
lery and pit, and six hy nine stages upon -which the
goric.-^t of l)lood-curdling dramas are enacted, have a
variety j)ha.se to them, specialty performers preceding
1h(^ dramatic representations, and half-nude women
CONCEUT SALOON BAND.
mingling and drinking with Ix'ardlcss vouths in the
boxes.
The concert saloon, as some of the low jjlaces that
have a fat German with pink-spotted shirt and stove-
})ipe hat playing the i)iano, while a chap that has the
outward ai)pcarance of a speculative })hilosopher is
blowing a cyclone through a cracked cornet, is called,
has its uttructions for manv ; and if there are ladies to
VARIETY DIVES AND CONCERT SALOONS.
411
eke out the entertainment by squeezing discord out
of an accordeon with flute obligato of an ear-piercing
and peace-destroying kind — or, in fact, if there arc
any female musicians on the grounds, the proprietor
of the establishment may count on liberal patronage.
The female orchestras to be found in the Bowery,
New York, where a squad of pretty girls all* dressed
in white, with a female leader wielding the baton with
FEMALE BAND.
as much nerve as if she were old Arditi himself, are
irresistible attractions to those whose tastes lead them
to lager beer, and who like to partake of the beverage
particularly in pleasant surroundings. A person does
not get very much beer, but he hears a great deal
of wild music, and unless he is over-sensitive he will
VARIETY DIVES AND CONCERT SALOONS. 413
forgive the music and forget the beer — if he can.
It is but a few years since that the keeper of a beer
o-arden first introduced these institutions into American
,^
'„?f^#^
JAMES O NEILL.
life. His venture proved so sliccessful that imitators
sprang up all along the Bowery. The tenements of
414 VAIJIKTV DIVES AND COXCKRT SALOONS.
the East Side were cx[)l()iod, :uk1 every female who
coiikl torture the neighbors with an accordeon, scrape
the catgut or hang the piano was enlisted in the grand
scheme of catering to the musical tastes of Gotham's
beer drinkers.
" Over the Rhine," in Cincinnati, is a great place for
cheap and vicious amusements. A correspondent writ-
ing from there says: "The places of amusement
AN IDEAL "MASIIEU."
"Over the Khinc " line Vine Street for lialf a dozen
blocks. They arc of the democratic and, with one
exception, rude order, more fauiiliar to the backwoods
than to the civilization east of the Mississippi. Some
are large cstal)lisiiments with all the tittings of an East
Side variety theatre. Olhors are mere halls with a
limited stage at one end. To some an admission is
charged, ranging from tea cents up to twenty-five
vauif:ty dives and concert saloons. 415
cents, but most of them are free. The performers in-
clude many familiar stars of the variety stage, for the
sahirics paid are of the best. The performances,
thougli vulgar, are clean enough. The drinks pay all
expenses, of course. Beer is served throughout the
house and s,moking is perpetually in order. In most
places there is a gallery of boxes where the young
women from the stage mingle with such of the
audience as, by their generosity, deserve such honor.
These are " stuffers," or as they call them here " chair
warmers." One of them has conquered the soul of a
local critic and he is actually puffing her into promi-
nence in her peculiar line through the columns of one
of the leading papers."
CHAPTER XXIX.
A TEAM OF IRISH COMEDIANS.
Tho variety stage is responsible for a great many
theatrical "what-is-its." A few years ai;o there was
not so much variety to the variety business ; the pro-
jectors of mastodon ami megatherian companies were
not in the field to encourage poor artists, and only the
really eminent and excellent in this branch of the
profession were allowed to iiillict themselves on first-
class audiences. Now the dizziest of tho tlirou'*- make
their way to the foot-lighis under respectable auspices
in the largest cities, and share with their really deserv-
ing ])rethern, about in equal parts, the sympathy and
applause of large and fashionable houses. The differ-
ent branches of the business are, at present, subdivided
into more parts than there were formerly principal
divisions, and every new feature of the profession has
its exalted and also its insignificant exponents. There
are a hundred and one dilfercnt stvles of sonsr-and-
dance men anil song-and-dance women ; serio-comics
arc as widely variant in their styles and repertoires, as
they call the few songs tlioy sing threadbare, as they
are numerous and diverse in their types of beauty or
ugliness ; sketch artists have in their multiplicity in-
fringed upon the legitimate comedians, tho wihl bur-
lesques, and tho highly operatic stars' territories ;
there are scores and scores of sciiools of musical mokes
and thousands of performers with eccentric acts of one
kind or another that are intended to astonish and be-
(4ii;)
A TEAM OF IRISH COMEDIANS.
417
wilder the " natives," as they call the vast number of
people who patronize their shows. But the Irish com-
edian stands out amid all these changes, immutable in
his make-up and unmindful of the hoary age of the
EDWIN HARRIGAN.
jokes with which he tortures the intelligent portions of
his audiences. He has been dressed and redressed
and placed before the public in any number of shapes
that were intended to be novel, extendiuij from the one
27
418
A TEAM OF IRISH COMEDIANS.
extreme ot" the so-called noiit Irish huinorist to the
other, at which sttiiuls the loiitl-moutluHl, heel-clicking
aiul hcatl-breuking North of Ireland character ; but tlic
disguise is always thin, the eflbrts of the performers
TONY HART.
arc vapid, and all the comedians succeed in looking
pretty much alike, in saying the same melamholy
thin"-s, and in betraying a kinship that is unmistak-
able and strongly provocative of pity.
A TEAM OF IRISH COMEDIANS. 419
A few performers have been successful in making
reputations as North of Ireland characters, but they
are very few. Ferguson and Mack were for a time at
the head of this class of variety comedians, but they
got lazy, failed to exhibit anything like extensive orig-
inality, and carted their old jokes and stale " l)usiness "
to Enghind and back, until tliey have fallen pretty
much to the rear ranks. Harrio-an & Hart, wlio have
a large theatre in New York, and whose phiy, " Squat-
ter Sovereignty," had a run of almost a year, are now
the best known and really the cleverest of the members
of the profession who make a specialty of Irish comedy.
Billy Barry and Hugh Fay have made fame and money
with their laughal)le " Muldoon's Picnic," and there
are probably a score of others whose efforts would be
worth mentioning if they could be recalled at this mo-
ment. As in all other lines, however, the ranks have
been filled up with men and boys who are even more
iarnorant and ridiculous off the stao^e than on : who
have graduated from newspaper hawking and boot
blacking routes to the back door of the stage, and
whose limited powers of mimicry, whose retentive
memories for old and poor jokes, and whose rhinoce-
ros-hide cheek — absolute "gall" they would call it
themselves — are their only recommendations to any
consideration. They, like all other really bad actors,
look down upon every brother professional and imagine
that they alone have attained to the privileged height
above which there is no firm foothold for anybody
else. It is the pleasing prerogative of all poor artists
to have hallucinations of this kind, and to dwell in
temples of fame that are built upon the sands of their
own imaginations. Nobody ever disabuses them of
their egotistical ideas, and if anybody attempted to do
420 A TEAM OF IlilSII COMEDIANS.
SO he would l)e set down as the very g^ausiost of " <riiys "
for his i):uns.
The Irish comedian, and es[)ccially the cct'iMitric
gentleman who liails from the North of Ireland, has
muUii>lied so rai)idly of late that the stock of jokes
with whic-h the oriijinal North of Ireland comedian
start«'d out many years ago has been turned over thou-
sands of times, and occasionally a modern audience
iictually ci-y when they are made [)arties to the ghoul-
ish crime of resurrecting the dead and buried giigs.
It is my intention to licro present tiic jjicture of a team
of North of Ireland comedians, and give an idea of
the nianiKM- in wliich they amuse their audiences; for
some of the i)eoplc who go to the theatre are so guile-
less and so easily tickhMl that they find themselves
orreatlv amused bv a diah)irue teemin<x with ancient
Hil)erniaiiisnis. Tlu! stories chosen are in\ariably of
the most vulgar and disgusting character, abouiuling
in references and suggestions that would not be lis-
tcn<'(l to outside of the theatre. The peddlers of
these rare bits of stage humor choose all manner of
make-u[)s to set olf their stock in trade. A gorgeous
plaid suit with ])agL;v 1 rousers and shoil coat top[)ed
1)V a high white hat, and the oullit com])h'ted with a
can(! ; or a wardrohe i-onsisting of a semi-res])ectable
thin-sleeved, .s((uai"e-tailed frock coat and high-
water broadcloth })ants, with polished and lowering
stove-i)ipc hat; or a hod-carrier's rig; or any half-
idiotic attempt to duplicate a workingman's get-up —
a " ir:is-hf)Use tanier," who tells you aI)out- Micky
DnllV ha\ ing got a jot) to ^\heel out smoke or to suck
wind from bladders, — any of these maybe chosen.
The clothes mav diller, hut the jokes, the " business,"
and the facial i)ictures will always be found the same.
Caues und stove-pipe huts — white or black — ari3 even
A TEAM OF IRISH COMEDIANS. 421
more necessary for the success of an Irish comedian
than is talent of any kind ; the canes are used for
thumping the floor of the stage', and the stove-pipe
hats for banging each other in the face, for this class
of comedians always travel in pairs. There is a great
deal of floor-thumping and hat-slapping in one of their
acts, and among the rough acrobatic aspirants to fame
the feet are freely used upon each other, and there is
a reckless lot of fallino; and tumbling in breakneck
style upon the stage.
In making up his face the Irish comedian generally
likes to indulge in a shrubbery of beard around the
neck under either a clean shaven or stubble-strewn
chin ; if he aims at anything like decency in his ap-
pearances he will affect only brushy side-whiskers. A
red expression around the nose and under the eyes,
and a red or black wig to match his special eccentricity,
complete his needs in this respect. The two speci-
mens of Irish comedians that I have chosen for pre-
sentation here were of .the alleged neat type in their
profession. They were travelling with Tony Pastor
when I saw them, and in their outward aspect greatly
resembled Harry and Johnny Kernell. They were
credited with holding a high position in their particu-
lar line, and their names were on the walls and fences
in letters a foot long ; in addition to this they came on
late in the programme, Avhich is always a sure indica-
tion of the importance of the estimate placed on an
act or artist by the management.
. But here comes one of them. The Stein Sisters
have just finished a song-and-dance, " the flat," for
the street scene comes together, the orchestra with a
wild flourish of bass drum and cornet strikes up a
familiar Irish melody, and, after a few bars, one of the
comedians enters. He is tall, wears a gray woollen suit
422 A TEAM OF IRISH COMEDIANS.
of fasliionablo cut, a hat that never in the world would
ait ou an Irish head ; a red-haired wig, i)artly bald, is
secMired under the hilt ; gaiters with black over-gaiters
clothe the feet, and the face is smooth and genteel,
except upon the chin, whence a long thin beard pro-
trudes like a plo\vshare. An ordinary twenty-five-cent
cane puts the finishing touches to his wardrobe. He
looks like a hack-driver out for a holiday, or a Kerry
Patch politician dressed for a Skirmishing Fund picnic.
He facesthe audience from the middle of the lower part
of the stas^e as boldlv as if he were going to entertain
them with something new. He pretends to be angry,
and when the music has ceased, begins to pace wildly
u}) and down the front of the i^tage, as ho shouts re-
gardless of all the rules of common sense and elo-
cution : —
" The oidea av callin' me a tarrier ! Why a Span-
yard can't walk the shtrcets nowadays widout bein'
taken for a Mick or a tarrier ! "
There are always a few indiscreet people in the
audience who laugh at this sally, and the comedian
goes on : " But there's iiO use talkin', my b'y's bad as
the rest av 'em. ^Vlliu he wint away from home, two
years ago, he sez to m(\ sez he : ' Father, whin you
hear from me ag'in I'll be President av the United
States.' 1 got a letter froiu him last week sayin' he was
wan av the foinest shoemakers iii the State's i)rison."
Tiiis also raises a laugh, and he continues: "But
there's nawthin' but trouble in this wurrld. The
other day I bought a horse, and the man tould me
he'd thrf)t a mih; intwominits; and be heavens he
could <1() it only fur wan thing — the disthance is too
inucli I'm- the toime. [Laughter by the audience.]
Till lailly ashamed ivery toime I take that animal out
a roidin', fur Fve got to put a soign upon him sayin',
A TEAM OF IRISH COMEDIANS. 423
' This is a horse.' [Laughter.] My woife an' her
mother tuck the horse out fur a droive in the park the
other day ; the horse run away, the buggy upsot, an'
my woife and mother-in-haw war thrun out an' kilt.
Now, whether you belave me or not, more than five
hundred married min have bin afther me thryin' to b'y
that horse. [Laughter by the male portion of the au-
dience.] But I won't sell him, because I'm thinkin'
av gettin' married ag'in meself. [Laughter.] I've
got a gerrl — she's a swate crayther av sixteen sum-
mers, several hard winters [titter], and I think she's
put in a couple av hard falls [laughter] ; but she'll
spring up ag'in all right. [Loud and indiscriminate
laughter] I tuck her to the shlaughter-house the
other day to see 'em kill hogs. She wuz watchin' 'cm
butcher the poor craythers whin all to wonst she turns
to me an' sez, sez she, ' Whin'll yure turn come, dear
John?' [Laughter.] We're married now. My woife
is very fond of cats. Three weeks ago she axed me to
make her a prisint av wan, and I tuck wan home.
That noight the cat got into my woife' s bed-chamber,
got into the bed, sucked her breath, and in the mornin'
my woife was dead. The other noight I wint out an'
got dhrunk, wint home and got in bed ; the same cat
kem and sucked my breath, and be heavens ! whither
ye belave me or not, in the mornin' the cat was
dead!"
There are many persons in the audience who seem
not to have read this story in the original Greek, — for
it appears among the queer things Hierokles, the Joe
Miller of ancient times, wrote,' — and these persons
laugh at the ghastly joke, while the orchestra gives a
chord, and the comedian, tilting his hat forward, flour-
ishing his cane and walking around the stage with the
air of a man who has done an act of charity of which
424 A TEAM OF lUISII COMKDIANS.
he is proud, ut l:ist comes down to the foot-lights und
sings :
I'm Levi McGinnis
Tlie alderman! The aldenuaul
I'm Levi McGinnis
The alderman so gay.
Or sonic equally nonsensical and jingling lines, after
which he dances a few steps and hurriedly exits. As
he is going off at one side his partner comes on at the
opposite side with another armful of " chestnuts " —
as they call worn-out gags, in the show business. The
partner is known as Solomon O'Toole. He is dressed
in square-cut frock coat, high vest, and short panta-
loons, has a squatty, white, square-top, stiff hat, side-
whiskers, — " Gal way sluggers " or " Carolinas " they
are usually called, — carries a cane, and altogether
from the expression of his face seems a quiet and
harmless fellow. His tongue is broguey but clear,
and ho speaks with a rapidity which suggests that he is
either ashamed of what he is saying or is afraid he Avill
forget some part of it. lie says : —
" Now, I'm a man can shtand a joak, but whin I go
into a barber shop on Sunday mornin' and the colored
barber pins a newspaper under me chin an' hands me
a towel to read, its goin' a little too far. [Laughter.]
But whin a man goes out in the mornin', these days,
there's no knowin' whether or not he'll come back
ag'in at night The other day I went to see a friend
o' moine named fJolin Gilligaii, Avho lives at Newton
Stuart, about tin moilo from Poketown, on the Iloir
an' Hominy Road, an' he tuck me to hear a South
Caroliny pr'acher who was pr'achin' an cloquint sar-
miu. Everything wint all roight until the })r'acher
sez, 8ez he, "When (lod med the fust man ho stud
him up ag'instafiuce to dhry I " I hollered out, "Who
A TEAM OF iRtSir COMEDIANS. 425
med the fince?" an' be heavens, they bounced me on
the impulse av the momiut. [Laughter.] But az I
sed afore, whin a man goes out iu the mornin' he never
knows what's goin' to happen. The other mornin'
I wint over to the Grand Pavcific Hotel — I o-o there
every morning' ; there's a friend av mine boardiu'
there be the waik, an' whin he laves town I jro over an'
ate his males for him ; but I wint over there th' other
mornin' an' picked up a paper an' I read an arteckle
headed ' The Chinaise Must Go.' Now, be heavens,
I don't want the fellow that's got my three shurrts to
go until I git 'em back from him ag'in. [Laughter.]
A friend av moine named GilliGjan boug-ht a o-oat the
other day, an' he goes about the shtreets atin' eysther-
cans an' knockin' the childher over in the gutter. He
butted over a little nagur b'y th' other mornin', and
whin Gilligan was taken to coort he summoned me as
a witness for the prosecution. Whin I tuck the wit-
ness shtand the judge axed me what me name waz, an'
I sed Michael Mahoney ; an' he axed me what war me
nationality, whin be way av a joak I sez, sez I,
'I-talyan,' an' be heavens, he gev me six months for
perjuree. [Laughter.] I wint into a salune th' other
day ; some av the ■ b'ys war settin' around a table
play in' cassinoe, an' whin they saw me come in, one
av 'em sez, sez he, ' Luck out for the Mick, or he'll
swipe up all the lunch!' [Laughter.] I've got a
b'y that the Chicago base-ball club used for a foul
flag on rainy days. [Smiles.] They threw a ball to
him th' other day an' hit him in th' eye ; I tuck him
to an occulist who tuck the eye out an' laid it on a
table ; be heavens, a cat kem along an' swallied the
eye. [Smiles.] The docthor tould me to kum
around next day, an' I tuck the b'y wid me. The
occulist had cut out wan av his cat's eyes, an' he puts
42() A TKAM OF IRISH COMEDIANS.
it into the b'ys head. [Audible smiles.] Now the
b'ys doin' fust rate, only whin he goes to Ix'd at
noiirht wan eye stczoi)cn an' keeps roaniin' around fur
rats. [Laui^hter.] Gilligan has got two b'ys. Wan
av thini liasn' spint a cint fur two year ; he'll be out
(ofprison ) in October. [Laughter.] The other l)'y
will make his mark in the world ; in faet he metl his
mark on me the other noight. He put a tack on a
chair with the belligeriut ind to'rds mo, an' whin I
wint to sit down I got up ag'iii very suddintly. I
don't care how ould a mau is, or how tired he is, whin
he sils down on the belliji-erint ind av a tack he is
bound to assoom agility an' youthfulness. [Laughter.]
It maybe but a momentary assumjjtion, but the agility
is always there. The other mornin' I intered a friend's
salune. There war grape shkins on the flure, an' I
sez to him, ' How do ye do, Mr. Cassidy? I see you
had a party last night.' ' What makes you think
so?' sez he. ' Because I see the grape shkins on the
flure,' sez I. * Thim's uot grape shkins,' sez he ;
thim's eyes. Some of the b'ys hcd a fight here lasht
noight an' you're now surveyin' the baltle-lield.'
[r^aughter.] But T was expectin' a (Vicnd av moine
down here, Levi McGinnis. Ah, here he comes.
Levi, how are you ? "
" I'm well, Solomon," says the other, who has como
on the stai'e and is shakini; hands with Solomon.
" ^^'hat kept you so (juick?"
" I'd been here sooner," is the smart r('S[)onsc,
" only 1 couldn't get down any lat(U\"
" It waz ;i very wet winther we had lashl winther,
Solomon? "
♦♦Yes. Did ynu luiy any rubbers yet this yeai-? "
♦♦ Not this year."
♦♦ Goodyear."
A TEAM OF IRISH COMEDIANS. 427
" Where did you go when you left me Ih' other
noight? " Levi continues. *
" 1 Avent down to the maskeerade ball."
" I heard you was there. They put you out because
you wouldn't take your mask off after 12 o'clock."
" But I didn't have any mask on. It waz me own
face,"
" That's what I tould them," sa3^s Levi, " but they
wouldn't belave me."
This raises a laugh, Solomon looks for a moment
with astonishment at Levi, then thumps his cane
against the floor in an angry manner, and walks in a
circle around the stage as if terribly disgusted at
having allowed himself to be sold. This look,^ cane-
thumping and walk-around are stereotyped Hiber-
nianisms, and are introduced at the end of each " sell."
As Solomon O'Toole gets sold all the time this end
of the business is as exclusively his as if he had a
patent on it.
" I went into a salune thismornin'," said Solomon,
" to git a glass av beer. I got me beer, ped foive
sints, and waz jist goin' to blow the foam oflfit when
somebody cries out, ' Foight !' I laid down me beer
an' run out the dure to see where the foight waz, but
there was no foiijht. Whin I oot back me beer waz
gone. I called for another glass an' waz goin' to
dhrink it down, when somebody shouts, ' Foire ! '
Now I Avanted to see the foire an' I didn't want to
lose me beer, so I pulls out a bit av pincil an' paper
an' wroites on it, ' I have shpit in this beer.' When
I puts the paper on tap av the beer an' wint out to see
the foire. There was no foire, an' what do you think
happin'd whin I got back? "
" Your beer waz gone," said Levi.
*' No it wazn't," Solomon interposed. " The beer
428 A TEAM OF lUISlI COMEDIANS.
waz there an' the bit av paper waz on tap av it, but
some sucker had wrote roight andcr my wroitin', ' So
hevl.'"
The conclusion of the story is ot* course greeted with
hiughter.
" Here, Solomon," says -Levi, " I want to make
you a prisent."
*' An' what's this? " Asks Solomon, examining the
article that has been handed to him.
"A shoe horn."
"An' what do I want wid an ould shoe horn?"
" Thry an' get your hat on your head with it" an-
swers Levi, amid an outburst of merriment from the
audience.
"How louse can a man live widout br.iins?" is
Solomon's next conundrum.
" T don't know," says Levi. " How ould are you
now? " [Laughter.]
" What is a i)late of hash? " Levi asks;
"An insult to a s(|uaro meal," Solomon answers
triumi)hantly.
" Thin you can shtand more insults than any other
man 1 ever saw," says Levi, whereat Solomon's indig-
nation causes him to manoeuvre to the right of stage
in proper position for the next question.
"What's the dilf'rence betwane you and a jack-
ass? " he asks, looking sternly at Levi.
The latter measures the iloor with his eye, and an-
swers, "About twelve foot." Solomon (humps his
cane ajrainst the floor once more, looks bereft of all
the pleasure he ever possessed on earth, and moving up
to Levi, says : —
" No, that's not the roight answer."
"Well, " says Levi, " I'd loike to know what is the
ditf 'rince betwane you an' a jackass?"
A TEAM OF IRISH COMEDIANS. 429
"No cliff 'rlnce," shouts Solotnou, throwing up his
hands, and coming down the stage shaking with laughter.
Suddenly the fact dawns upon him that he has made
a mule of himself. His face assumes a bewildered ex-
pression, and he hastily returns from the scene fol-
lowed by Levi McGinniss, while the orchestra stril^es
up a lively air in anticipation of the encore which is to
call the comedians out to do a wild Irish reel.
This is a fair sample of the dialogue indulged in by
a team of Irish comedians of average ability, and the
reader will at once understand from it what ridic-
ulous and almost disgusting language and incidents
are made use of to raise a laugh, and how very easy it
is to please a variety theatre audience. Pat Rooney's
shrug of the shoulders and Land-League phiz, or some-
body else's queer walk becomes the rage, and imme-
diately there are a hundred weak and pitiful imitators.
So, too, with such a dialogue as the foregoing; it
seems to " catch on " with the public, and every Irish
comedian on the stage must appropriate at least a por-
tion of it, — and usually the very worst portion. It
is safe to assume that the variety stage to-day has
no so-called North of Ireland Irishman who does not
flino; at least a half-dozen of the sorrv witticisms I have
here given, at the heads of his audience. There is no
law against it, — no protection for the patrons of the
theatres, who can do nothing else than to grin and
stand it, — and therefore the Irish comedian and his
" chestnuts " forever flourish in this land of the free
and home of the brave.
CIIArXER XXX.
THE IJLACK AKT.
Tho l)l;ick nrt, as the art of magic is termed, lias
arriv(>d at a degree of pci'fectiou that is aiuazing.
Tho magicians of the Orient for a long time Averc held
np as superior to any rivals outside their country.
They sat in the streets, and without paraphernalia
caused flowers to Imrst from i)ots of earth and spring
into instantaneous growth ; they had their then wonder-
ful l)asket trick, in which a l)oy, having entered a l)askct,
to all appearances just large enough to receive hiin, re-
mained there while the mai^ician ran his sword throuirh
the basket in all directions, after which the boy came
forth unharmed ; there were sword swallowers amonir
them, and altogether their skill in and knowledge of
the art of mystifying was considered beyond reproach.
The Chinese, too, i)rofess to be irood iuirijlers and
magicians, and so they are. IJiit thc^ Europeans .and the
Americans have stepped in, and the Hindoo and the
Chinaman may now go to the rear in magic. Iloudin,
Heller, Macallister, and Hermann have done tricks far
superior to anything th(! Eastern wonder-workers are
capable of, cither in the way of mechanical intricacy or
manual dexterity. The latter feature is ciiltivatrd en-
tirely, and you no longer see the magician's stage -cov-
ered high and low with glittering paraphernalia, whose
brightness was beautilully set olV by the black velvet
hangings in the 1)ackground. Now there is nothing
presented to the view of the audience except a small
(430)
THE BLACK ART. 431
table in the centre of the stage. Taking Mr. Hermann,
for example : This magician comes out in full even-
ing dress, with coat sleeves pushed back revealing his
immaculate shirt cuffs and gorgeous sleeve buttons.
Whatever articles he will inject into his tricks he car-
ries in the capacious pockets of his coat or in the
palm of his hand. He introduces himself pleasantly
to the audience in his broken English, and at once the
performance begins. From that time on until the last
illusion is given the audience remains in darkness as
to his methods. He seldom leaves the stasfe, iroino-
only up to the last entrance, where, by standing
against the projecting wing his confederate can fill his
pockets with what he need^. A magician's coat looks
like a very common-place effort at the swallow-tail ar-
ticle. That's all it is exteriorly, but if you got a
glimpse of the side the lining is on, you will find from
eight to a dozen large and small pockets in the gar-
ment. Two of the pockets are huge affairs, running
from the front edge back under the arms, thus leav-
ing a wide mouth, so that large articles can quickly be
dropped into them.
Hermann is a great trickster, not only on the
stage, but off. He walked into a barber-shop in Mem-
phis one day, went up to the place where the razors
were kept, and taking up one, calmly cut his throat,
standing before the glass after the gash had been
made, and with evident pleasure regarding the profuse
flow of blood from the wound. The barbers and their
customers ran wildly into the streets yelling like a
tribe of Feejees around a barbecue of roast missionary.
They called the police, and raised a small riot in their
immediate neighborhood. The police came and entered
the shop, only to find Hermann coming forward to
greet them, laughing and remarking that it was only a
432
THE BLACK ART.
little practical joke. There was not the slightest siirn
of any wound upon his throat, and it was only when
the barbers were told that it was Hermann, the macri-
cian, that they could be brought to believe that he had
not really cut his throat throuidi, and then l)y some
wonderful healing art closed the gap again.
IIKUMANN's «* SKLL."
During his engagement in New York last season,
the famous magician demoralize*! a waiter and the
proprietor of a German beer saloon by making tho
foaming glass appear and disappear, and in receiving
the accurate chanfro of a five-dollar note counted it be-
THE BLACK ART. 433
fore the chagrined proprietor and made it appear that
the amount returned was $12, which he coolly pock-
eted. But his best trick was the "sell" he per-
petrated on the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty
to Children. He had it announced that he would re-
sume his old feat of blowins; a child from a cannon,
and making it appear safe and sound in the gallery of
the theatre. This set the society in arms at once.
He was notified that if he tried it the child (an appren-
tice) would be taken from him. He replied that he
was going to rehearse the feat on Thursday morning,
anyhow ; whereupon an agent of the society, with a
writ of habeas corpus, rushed upon the scene. Just
as he was about to ram the child into the [:iece of
heavy ordnance aimed at the gallery of the Grand
Opera House, the agent seized it and a tussel ensued
between him and the magician. In the pulling and
hauling one of the legs of the disputed youngster came
off, and it was dicovered that it was only a gigantic,
well-made-up doll. The agent escaped amid roars of
laughter, leaving his trophy behind. The press, too,
had been sold by the trick, so none of the papers pub-
lished the item.
Much as Hermann has sold others, he has been pretty
badly sold himself. I remember one night while Her-
mann was playing South, and doing his cabinet trick,
some of the boys around the theatre put up a job on
him that resulted disastrously as far as the trick was
concerned. The cabinet is a large contrivance greatly
resembling the huge refrigerators in use in grocery
stores, and some who know, say, bearing a great re-
semblance to saloon refrigerators. It has a false back
and is so constructed that one or more persons may be
hidden in the rear compartment. In the trick Her-
mann makes use of two colored boys, who must be
434 TIIK BLACK AIIT.
alike in size and facial ap[)earaiice. Only one of the
boys figures in the trick at first, going through a funny
bit of play and dialogue with the magician, until at
last he leaves the stage to get a knife with which to
combat a big monkey that has been locked u[) in the
cabinet. When boy No. 1 goes off the stage for a
knife boy No. 2 comes back with it and is hurriedly
pushed into the cabinet. Meanwhile boy No. 1 h.is
left the stai!:e-doorand is runnin<j: fast as he can around
the block. The magician after standi ni>: at the cal)inet
a few minutes — just long enough to allow boy No. 1
to get to the front entrance of the theatre — opens the
door, and lo ! boy No. 2 is gone. *'Boyee! Boy-ee ! "
the magician shouts, " Say boy-ee w'ere are you,
boy-ee?" "Here I is, boss," the boy shouts, rush-
ing breathlessly up the aisle. The trick surprises
everybody, and is a good one. On the occasion I refer
to, the *' boys " got a p(;liceman to arrest the lad
while he was running around from the back to the
front door. The blue-coat took him to the station and
Hermann shouted in vain for his " boy-ee," and was
finally ol)liged to close the trick without the appear-
ance of his darkey confederate.
As I have spoken above about the jugglers and
tricksters of the Orient 1 may as well say that I wit-
nessed the performances of the trickster who was in
Harry French's Hindoo troupe. There was nothing
marvellous in his feats, the boy-and-l)asket trick alone
being the only thing of an astonishing character that
he presented, and that being susceptible of easy expla-
nation, the boy being light and sup[)le and c:i[)ablo of
moving or contracting his body so as to kei^p out of
the way of the sword thrusts, which by the way were
not of a violent character. In a private entertainment
given l)y this juggler he ap|)('ar(Ml moiH^ awkward and
THE BLACK ART. 435
clumsier iliaii many an amateur who undertakes to fur-
nish a parlor entertainment for his friends. It was
evident that he would undergo suffering and pain for
the success of a trick, as he took an ordinary wooden
tooth-pick and while pretending to push it, in its en-
tirety, into one corner of his eye, actually did push
part of it in, not having broken it off short enough in
the process of concealing it. Again he swallowed a
yard of black thread, and taking a knife cut a small
opening in his side and brought forth a yard of black
thread that had, of course, been concealed there before-
hand. The thread was bloody and was drawn slowly
from its place of concealment.
A correspondent writing from China about the street
jugglers to be seen there, says: " Sword-swallowing
and stone-eating appear to be the commonest feats,
and operators of this description may be found in
almost every street. One fellow, however, performed
a number of feats in front of our hotel, which demand
from me more than a passing notice. He stationed
himself in the middle of the street, and having blown
a buo-le-blast to give warning that he was about to
begin his entertainment, he took a small lemon or
orange tree, which was covered with fruit, and bal-
anced it upon his head. He then blew a sort of chir-
ruping whistle, when immediately a number of rice
birds came from every direction, and settled upon the
boughs of the bush he balanced or fluttered about his
head. He then took a cup in his hand, and began to
rattle some seeds in it, when the birds disappeared.
Taking a small bamboo tube, he next took the seeds
and putting, one in it blew it at one of the fruit, when
it opened and out flew one of the birds, which flut-
tered about the circle surrounding the performer. He
continued to shoot the seeds at the oranges until
436 THE BLACK ART.
nearly a dozen birds were released. He then removed
the tree from his foreliead, and setting it down, took
up a dish, which he held above his head, wlicn all the
birds flew into it, then covered it over Avith a cover,
and giving it a whirl or two about his head, opened it
and dis[)layed a (juantity of eggs, the shells of which
he broke with a little stick, releasing a bird from each
shell. The trick was neatly performed, and defied
detection from my eyes. The next trick was equally
astonishing and difficult of detection. Borrowinii: a
handkerchief from one of his spectators, he took an
orange, cut a small hole in it, then scjueezed all the juice
out, and crammed the handkerchief into it. Giving
the orange to a bystander to hold, he caught up a
teapot and began to pour a cup of tea from it, when
the spout became clogged. Looking into the pot,
apparently to detect what was the matter, ho pulled
out the handkerchief and returned it to the owner.
He next took the orange from the bystander and cut it
open, when it was found to be full of rice."
Two of the finest tricks now on the stage are the
rerial sus[)ension and the Indian box-trick. The latter
I explain in the next chapter. The atrial suspension,
which is best seen in Prof. Seeman's performances,
consists in apparantly mesmerizing a young lady
while she is standing on a stool between two upright
bars, uj)on each of Avhich slu; rests an elbow. When
she is in the mesmeric state the stool is removed,
leaving her suspended upon both elbows ; then one
of the 1)ars — that uinlcr the Icl't ell)ow — is removed,
and the fair subject slill remains motionless, her entire
weiirht resting ui)on th(^ ell)ow of the right arm, which
is extended out from the bod}', with the hand thrown
easily and gracefully against the check. Next, her
figure is pushed out from the bar through various
THE BLACK ART. 437
angles, until at last she reclines upon her strange
rerial couch, which is scarcely more than one
inch in diameter. The illusion is a beautiful one,
and astonishes all who see it. Occasionally the
creaking of tlie steel joints under the elbow is heard
out in the audience, " o:ivino- awav " the feat, for the
actual fact is that the young lady is not in a mesmeric
condition, but is held in position by a steel armor
worn under her costume, with a joint at the elbow
that fits into the upright bar, where a powerful sj'stem
of leverage holds the body in any position desired.
Hermann's bird trick is a fine one. He comes be-
fore the audience with a livino; bird in a small caoe
held between both hands, and " Wan I Two ! T'ree ! "
with a sudden movement, and without turning away
from the audience spreads his arms, when, lo ! the bird
and cage have disappeared. The explanation given by
some is that the cao:e is made of rubber, which, when
C; 7 7
released envelopes the bird in a sort of sack which
flies up the magician's sleeve.
Nearly every young man in the land who has seen
a magician on the stage, wants to master the black
art. It is very easy for him to do so. All he needs
is a great deal of what is vulgarlj^ known as " cheek,"
and termed in theatrical slang, " gall," a quick eye,
and ease and rapidity of movement in handling articles.
The first thing to be learned is the art of " palming " —
concealing small objects in the palm of the hand.
Coins, balls, handkerchiefs, etc., are hidden in this
way, being held in the open hand by the pressure of
the fleshy part of the thumb. In this way the shower
of coin and many like tricks are done. When the art
of" palming" is understood, rapidity of movement is
the next thing, and then come the mechanical and
other tricks.
438 THE BLACK AKT.
Only the okl-school magicians — tlio fakirs — retain
the fire-eating trick in their entertainments. Any
school-boy can do it now, as the preparation for it is
very simple. By anointing the tongue with liquid
storax, a red-hot poker may be licked cool, or coals taken
from the fire may l)e placed upon the tongue and left
there until they become black.. To any person who
has an appetite for flames, or for -whom five-cent
■whiskey is not fiery enough, a trial of this trick will be
gratifying. And should there be a desire to walk on
fire or on red-hot iron, let the aspiring salamander
take half an ounce of camphor, dissolve it in two ounces
of aqua vitiB, add to it one ounce of quicksilver, one
ounce of liquid storax, Avhich is the dro[)pings of myrrh,
and prevents the camphor from firing ; take also two
ounces of hematis, which is red stone, to be had at the
druggist's. Let them beat it to a powder in their
great mortar, for l)eing very hard it cannot well be re-
duced in a small one ; add this to the iuirredients al-
ready specified, and when the walking is to be done
anoint the feet with the preparation, when the ti'ick
mav be accomplished without the sliirhtest danirer.
If anyl)ody desires to be ghastly in his trickery, he
may cut a nmn's head off and put it in a platter a yard
from his body. This is done by causing a board, a
cloth, and a platter to 1)0 purposely made with holes in
each to fit a boy's neck. The board must be made of
two })lanks, the longer and broader the better ; there
must be left within half a yanl of the end of each jjlank
half a hole, that both the planks being put together,
there may remain two holes like those in a pair of
stocks. There must be made, likewise, a hole in the
cloth ; a platter having a hole of the same size in the
middh;, and having a piece taken out at one side the
size of the neck, so that he may place his head
THE BLACK AIlT. 439
above ; must be set directly over it ; then the boy
sitting or kneeling under the board must let the head
only remain upon the board in the frame. To make
the sight more dreadful, put a little brimstone into a
chafing-dish of coals, and set it before the head of the
boy, who must gasp two or three times that the smoke
may enter his nostrils and mouth, and the head pres-
ently will appear stark dead, and if a little blood be
sprinkled on his face, the sight will appear more
dreadful. This is commonly practised with boys in-
structed for that purpose. At the other end of the
table, where the other hole is made, another boy of the
same size as the first boy must be placed, his body on
the table and his head through the hole in the table,
at the opiDosite end to where the head is which is ex-
hibited .
CHAPTER XXXr.
THE INDIAN BOX-AND-BASKET TRICK.
The Indiiiu box-and-basket trick was for a long time
a mystery even among magicians, and now it pnzzles
astnte people to understand how the young man or
young woman who has been tied in a sack and placed
under lock and key in a wicker basket on top of a box
not only locked and sealed but tied in all directions
with stout rope, can get out of the sack and basket
and into the box within very few minutes. In 1873
Barnuai paid £1,000 to a London trickster for the so-
called mystery- This extraordinary feat which puz-
zled the knowing ones for so long a time was explained
to me once by a magician, and will be found so simple
as to astonish those who read the exi)lanati()n.
The magician begins by announcing the trick ; he
tl
icn
brings
on
Fig. I-
the staf2:e a larjje
wooden box-like
trunk ( Fig. 1 )
with hinges and
has[)s on it. A
c oni in i 1 t (' (; is
generally called from the audience to examine
the })nx to sec that there is no deccplion in its
apparent stoutness. They look it over and ovci- and
discover nothing. Tin^y then lock the box, retain the
keys, and stop up the key-holes with sealing-wax. The
committ(!0 also, amid the siionts of the audience to
(440)
THE INDIAN BOX-AND-BASKKT TRICK.
441
" tie it up tight," wind rope around the box in all di-
rections, making innumerable knots and using every
effort to secure the box firmly. Then on top of the
box is placed a board about as wide as the lid of the
box, and on the opposite ends of which are heavy
plate staples.
(Fig. 2.) The
magician's
j^-ig 2. assistant now
steps to the foot-lights and is introduced to the crowd
he, or she, is to astonish. A sack is brought forward,
the assistant lightly mounts to the board on top of the
box, gets into the sack, within which there is generally
a stool, so that the jDcrson inside may sit down. The
magician begins to tie up the sack ; he gathers the top
of it in his hands, and in the ii^antime the assistant
thrusts through the opening a portion of another sack,
and with his hands over his head holds in place the
gathered end of the sack in which he is concealed
while the magician- ties a rope around the false end.
The basket is a
high, comical-
shaped wicker af-
fair, with a heavy
ring around its
mouth and two
large staples at
opposite sides.
(Fig. 3.) When
the basket is
placed over the
assistant, the sta-
ples in its ring
fit exactly over
those on the mg. 3.
board above the box ; padlocks are passed through
442 THE INDIAN BOX-AND-BASKET TRICK.
the staples and locked, the comniiltec hold the
key, and sealing-wax is again applied to the key-
hole. The trick is now ready, the magician draws
a screen across to hide the box and basket from the
andience, and usnally within two minutes the signal is
given that the feat has been accomplislied. Sometimes
this signal is a pistol shot ; at other times a. whistle.
The screen is thrown aside, the seals on the locks are
un1)roken ; everything is in exactly the position in which
the committee left it, tiie ropes remain securely tied,
seem undisturbed, and on opening tlie 1)ox, which is
still stout and innocent-looking as ever, the assistant
tumbles out and the tri(tk comes to an end amid the
wild plaudits of the audience and an occasional uncom-
plimentary hoot at the committeemen.
How is it done? The siini)le-looking contrivance
that forms the foundation of tiie mvstery is nothinj;
more or less than a trick-])()x. Along the edijres of the
front, back and ends are fastened stout battens, as can
be seen in the cut. These battens ai'e screwed to the
boards which form the upper part of the box. The
lower boards at front and back and both ends are sim-
ply sliding panels. The parts of these panels which
come directly behind the battens are tilled with iron
plat OS pierced with holes of the shape to be seen in
Fig. 4. The screws on the lower
l)artsof th(! batten are dummies
— that is, they go o\\\y partly
through the battens, and do
^'"J-'^- ^ not reach the panels. On the
inner sides of the battens are iron plates, each carry-
ing a stud, so that when the parts of the panel plates
marked A come directly opposite the studs of the bat-
tens, the panel, if pressed or pushed, will fall inside
the box ; but if the studs bo jircssed through yl, and
THE INDIAN BOX-AND-BASKET TRICK.
443
the panels shoved along so that the shanks of the studs
slide through the slatted parts, B, the panels will be
locked securely. The unsuspicious air-holes you see
in the panels are there for a purpose ; the performer
uses them to give him a purchase, so that either with
his fingers or by means of a small iron rod he may
slide the panels backward or forward.
There is another piece of trickery in the construc-
tion of the board that rests on the box and upon which
the basket is placed. The plate staples are " crooked ; "
that is, the staples are not of a piece with the plates,
but are separate ; they are made with a shoulder, and
on each of the ends which fit tightly into holes through
the plates, there is an oval-shaped hole, as shown in
Fig. 5. Inside the board are two
double bolts w^hich pass through
these holes and keep the staples
in place. The person under the
basket passes a thin steel blade
between the boards and slides p ;
back the bolts at one end. He ^
then lifts the basket, and with it
the staple. Once outside the
basket he replaces it against the
staple in the plate, pushes it tig-o.
down, its rounded ends acting like wedges to
pushing the bolts back, which come together again
through the oval holes of the staple, locking it
firmly to the board again. All that remains to be
done, then, is to slide the panel of the box, push it
in, creep through the closely woven ropes and inside
the box, put the panel back in its place and the trick
is at an end.
Occasionally a performer does not find it as easy to
do this trick as it reads here. He may sometimes get
444 TIIK INDIAX BOX-AND-IJASKKT TRICK.
stuck ill the basket, or may find it impossihle to get
into the box. The sack is no troiil)le" to him at all,
for he is never really tied in the saek, — all lu; has to
do is to crawl out of it. Caral)<>fral)a, I think it was,
while cxhii)itin<2: the Indian box-triek in Chieairo at the
Adelphi Theatre, in 1874, met with tin accident that
set the house in an uproar, and came near precipitat-
ing a panic. His assistant, who had succeeded in get-
ting out of the l)asket, snapped in two a small iron rod
he used for sliding the ])anel, and despite a long and
desperate effort could not succeed in opening the box.
All he could do was to come from behind the screen,
walk to the foot-liirhts and beg to be excused. An
expert rope-tier had secured the box, as one of the
committee called upon to do so, and the juidience cred-
iting the expert with the failure of the tricdc, cried
fraud, and grew greatly excited. They would listen
to no explanation until Leonard (xrovcr, then manager
of the Adelphi, came forward and promised that the
trick would be performed later in the evening, and
that, in the meantime, the box should remain in full
sight of the audience, i)oth of which promises were
faithfully kept.
As it always takes some time to do this trick, the
ma<T^ician has some kind of a '< uhost storv " fixed up
to entertain his audience. An old ex-conjurer, writing
in /Scrih)ier\s Mont hi 1/ on the subject, gave the follow-
ing talk, with which he usually diverted his patrons
while his assistant was getting into the box : —
"And apropos of spiritualism," I would say, " I
will, with vour permission, relate the advcntui'c of a
seiwant girl at a spiritual seance. Miss Ilonora Mur-
phv, a young female (Mig.ig(<l in the honorable and
praiseworthy occupation of general housework merely
to dispel ennui, not licaring in some time from the
THE INDIAN BOX-AND-BASKET TRICK. 445
* b'y at home ' to whom she was engaged to be
* marrid,' Avas advised by the ' gerrl next doore '
to consult the spirits. Miss Murphy objected at first
on the o;round that she had taken her ' Father
Matchew seventeen year afore in her parish cliurch
at home an' niver drunli sperrits,' but finally con-
cluded to follow the advice. The result I shall give
you as detailed by her to her friend :" —
" How kem I by the black eye? Well, dear, I'll
tell yer. Afther what yer wur tellin' me, I niver
closed me eyes. The nixt maruin' I ast Maggie Harna-
han, the up-stairs gerrl, where was herself. * In her
boodoore,' sez Maggie, an' up I goes to her.
" ' What's wantin', 'Nora? ' sez she.
" ' I've jist heerd as how me cousin's very sick,'
sez I, « an' I'm that frettin', I mus' go an' see her.'
"Fitter fur yer ter go ter yer wurruk,' sez she,
lookiu' mighty crass, an' she the lazy hulks as niver
does a turn from mornin' till night.
*' ' Well, dear, I niver takes sass from anny av 'em,
so I ups an' tould her, ' Sorra taste av wurk I'll do
the day, an' av yer dou't like it, yer can fin' some wan
else,' an' I flounced mesel' out av the boodoore."
" Well, I wintto me room ter dress mesel,' an' whin
I got on me sale-shkin sack, I thought av me poor
ould mother — may the hivins be her bed! — could
only see me, how kilt she'd be intoirely. Whin I was
dressed I wint down-stairs, an' out the front doore,
an' I tell yer I slammed it well after me.
" Well, me dear, whin I got ter the majum's, a big
chap wid long hair and a baird like a billy-goat kem
inter the room. Sez he : —
" ' Do yer want to see the majum? '
" ' I do,' sez I.
*' ' Two dollars,' sez he.
446 THK INDIAN 150X-AND-BASKET TRICK.
" ' For what? ' says I.
*' ' For the sajants,' sez he.
" ' Faix, it's no aunts 1 want to see,' soz I, ' but
Luke Corrigan's own self.' Well, mo dear, Avid that
he gev a lauirh ye'd thluk 'd riz the roof.
" 'Is he yer husban' ? ' sez he.
" 'It's mighty 'quisitive ye nrc,' sez 1, 'but he's
not inc husban', av 3'er want ter know, l)ut I Avant ter
larn av it's alive or dead he is, which tiie Lord forbid !'
" ' Yer jist in the nick er time,' sez he.
" ' Faix, Ould Nick's here all the time, I'm thiukin',
from what I hear,' sez I.
" Well, ter make a long story short, I ped me two
dollars, an' wint into another rooui, an' if ye'd guess
froni now till Aisther, ye'd never thiuk what the
majum was. As I'm standin' here, 'twas notJiiii' hut
a luoman! I was that bet, I was a'niost spacheless.
" ' Be sated, madam,' sez she, p'ntin'^ to a chair,
an' I seed at wanst that she was a very shu[)erior sort
o' person. 'Be sated,' sez she. 'Yer inus' jiiie the
circle.'
" ' Faix, I'll ate a thriaugle, av yer wish,' sez I.
" 'Yer mus' be very quite,' sez she. An' so I sot
down along a lot av other folks at a table,
" 'First, I'll slug a him,' sez the majum, 'an' thin
do all yces jiue in the chorus.'
" 'Yer mus' axcusc me, ma'am.' sez I. ' I niver
could sing, but rather than spile the divarshuu o' the
company, av any wan' 11 whistle, I'll danco as purty a
jig as ye'll see from here to Bal'nasloe, though it's
mescl' as sez it.'
" Two young wliii)per-snappcrs begin ter laugh, but
the Ink I gev'em soon shut 'em up
"Jist then, the big chap as had me two dollars kem
THE INDIAN BOX-AND-BASKET TKICK. 447
into the room iin' turned down the lights ; in a minit
majum, shtickin' her face dose to me own, whispers:
" ' The sperrits is about — I kin feel 'em ! '
" ' Thruc for you, ma'am,' sez I, ' fur I kin smell
'em ! '
"'Hush, the inj^tience is an me,' sez the majum.
' I kin see the lion an' the lamb lying down together.'
" ' Begorra ! It's like a wild beastess show,' sez I.
"'Will yer be quite?' sez an ould chap nex' ter
me. ' I hev a question to ax.
" 'Ax yer question,' say I, ' an' I'll ax mine. I
ped me two dollars, an' I'll not be put down.'
" ' Plaze be quite,' sez the majum, ' or the sperrits
'11 lave.'
" Jist then kem a raj) on the table.
" ' Is that the sperrit of Luke Corrigan? ' sez the
majum.
" ' It is not,' sez I,- ' for he could bate any boy in
Kilballyowen, an' if his fist hit that table 'twould
knock it to smithereens.'
• " ' Whist? ' sez the majum ; 'it's John's Bunions.'
" 'Ax him 'bout his progress,' sez a woman wid a
face like a bowl of stirabout.
"'Ah, bathershiu ! ' sez I. 'Let John's bunions
alone and brino; Luke Corrioran to the fore.'
" ' Hisli ! ' whispers the majum ; ' I feel a sperrit
uare me.'
" ' Feel av it has a wart on its nose,' sez I, ' for be
that token ye'll know it's Luke.'
" ' The moment is suspicious,' says the majum.
" ' I hope yer don't want to asperge me character,'
sez I.
" ' Whist ! ' sez she ; ' the sperrits is droopin.'
"'It's droppin' yer mane,' sez I, pickin' up a-
small bottle she let fall from her pocket.
448 THE INDIAN IJOX-AND-BASKKT TKICK.
" ' Put that woman out,' scz an ould chap.
" ' Who do yc call a woman? ' soz 1. ' Lav a tinker
on mc, an' I'll scratch a map of the (\)nnty Clare on
yor ugly i)hiz.'
" ' Put her out I ' ' Put her out ! ' sez two or three
others, an' they med a lep for me. But, holy rocket !
I was up in a minute.
" ' Bring an yer fightin' sjjerrits,' I cried, " from
Julus Sazar to Tim ]Maconle, an' I'll bate 'em all fur the
gloiy av ould Ireland ! '
" The big chap as had me money kem bchin' me, an'
put his elbow in me eye ; 1)ut me jewel, I tassed him
over as if he bin a feather, an' the money rowled out
his pocket. AA'id a crv av ' Fau<rh-a-l)allah ! ' I crab-
bed six dollars, runned out av the doore, an' Til never
put fut in the house ag'in. An' that's how I kem be
the eye."
A story like this gives the magician's assistant plenty
of time to woi'lc the trick. Sometimes a mauficiaii
whoso conHdencc in his assistant is not strong, or
whose i)ara[)hernalia is limited, will have only the box,
and will satisfy himself with merely " tying" his as-
sistant in a sack on top of the box. This way the
trick is surer and a great deal easier than when the
basket is used.
CHAPTER XXXII.
VENTKILOQUISM.
All Avho have heard Prof. Kennedy or Val Vose
with their funny little figures have wondered how they
managed to produce such an effect upon their au-
dience — to completely delude them into the belief
that the speech came from the moving lips of the lit-
tle wooden heads and not from the closed and motion-
less labials of the ventriloquists. Both gentlemen are
thoroughly familiar with their art, and the entertain-
ment they give may be taken as a sample of the pos-
sibilities of ventriloquism. The history of the art goes
back to Biblical times, but not until the eighteenth cen-
tury have we anecdotes of the remarkable performances
of men endowed with the gift. The earliest notice of
the illusion, as carried out in modern times, has refer-
ence to Louis Brabant valet de cliambre to Francis I.
Having been rejected by the parents of a rich heiress
he wished to wed, he waited until the father was dead ;
then he visited the widow, whom he caused to hear
the voice of her husband coming from above com-
mandino; her to jjive their daugjhter in marriasje to
Louis, that he (the ftither) might be relieved from pur-
gatory. The widow was only too glad to comply.
Now, Louis wanted a wedding portion, so he went to
one Cornu, a rich, miserly, and usurious banker at
Lyons, whom he terrified into giving him ten thou-
sand crowns by the old trick of parent and purgator^^
The works of M. L'Abbe La Chapelle, issued 1772,
29" (449)
450 vi:NTRiLOQUis:yr.
contain dt'sciii)ti()ns of the ventriloquial achiovcnionts
of Baron Mcngcn at Vienna ; and those of M. St. Gillc,
near Paris, are equally interesting and astonishing.
The former in<xeniousl v constructed a doll with moveable
lips, which he could readily control l)y a movement of
the finijcrs under the dress ; and with this automaton
he was accustomed to hold humorous and satirical dia-
logues, lie ascribed proficiency in his art to the fre-
(^uent gratification of a propensity for counterfeiting
the cries of the lower animals, and the voices of })er-
sons with whom he Avas in contact.
La Chapelle, having heard many surprising circum-
stances related concerning one M. St. Gille, a grocer
at St. Germaincn-Laye, near Paris, whose powers as a
ventriloquist had given occasion to many singular and
diverting scenes, formed the resolution of seeing him.
Being seated with him on the op[)osite side of a fire, in a
parlor on the ground iloor, and very attentively observ-
ing him, the Abbe, after half an hour's conversation
with M. St. Gillc, heard himself called, on a sudden,
by his name and title, in a voice that seemed to come
from the roof of a house at a distance ; and whilst he
was pointing to the house from which the voice had
appeared to him to proceed, he was yet more surprised
at hearing the words, " it was not from that quarter,"
apparently in the same kind of voice as before, but
which now seemed to issue from under the earth at
one of the corners of the room. In short, this fic-
titious voice ])layed, as it were, everywhere about him,
and seemed to proceed from any quarter or distance
from which the o[)erator chose to transmit it to liim.
To th<^ Abbe, t hough conscious that the voice proceeded
from the mouth of M. St. (iille, Ik; appeariui abso-
lutely mute while he was exercising his talent ; nor
could an}' change in his countenance be discovered.
VENTRILOQUISM. 451
But ho observed that M. St. Gille presented only the
profile of his face to him while he was speaking as a
ventriU)quist.
On another occasion, M. St. Gille sought for shelter
from a storm in a neiohboring convent ; and finding
the community in mourning, and inquiring the cause,
he Avas told that one of their body, much esteemed bv
them, had lately died. Some of their religious brethren
attended him to the church, and showing him the tomb
of their deceased brother, spoke very feelingly of the
scanty honors that had been bestowed on his memory,
when suddenly a voice was heard, apparently proceed-
ing from the roof of the choir, lamenting the situa-
tion of the defunct in purgatory, and reproaching the
brotherhood with their want of zeal on his account.
The whole community being afterwards convened in
the church, the voice from the roof renewed its la-
mentations and reproaches, and the whole convent fell
on their faces, and vowed a solemn reparation. Ac-
cordingly, they first chanted a De profundis in full
choir ; during the intervals of which the ghost occa-
sionally expressed the comfort he received from their
pious exercises and ejaculations in his behalf. The
prior, when this religious service was concluded, en-
tered into a serious conversation with M. St. Gille,
and inveighed against the incredulity of our modern
sceptics and pretended phih^sophers on the article of
ghosts and apparitions ; and St. Gille. found it difficult
to convince the fathers that the whole was a deception.
M. Alexandre, the noted ventriloquist, had an extra-
ordinary facility in counterfeiting the faces of other
people. At Abbotsford, during a visit there, he actu-
ally sat to a sculptor five times in the character of a
noted clergyman, with whose real features the sculp-
tor was well acquainted. When the sittings were
452 VKNTUILOQUISM.
closed aiul the l)iist modelled, the mimic cast off his
wig and assumed dress, and appeared with his own
natural countenance, to the terror almost of the sculp-
tor, and to the great amusement of Sir AValter Scott
and others who had been in the secret.
Of this most celebrated ventriloquist it is related
that on one occasion he was passing ah)ng the Strand,
when a friend desired a specimen of his abilities. At
this instant a load of hay was i)assing along near Tem-
ple Bar, when Alexandre called attention to the suflb-
cating cries of a man in the centre of the hay. A
crowd gathered round and stopped the astonished
carter, and demanded why he was carrying a fellow-
creature in his hay. The complaints and cries of the
smothered man now became painful, and there was
every reason to believe that he was dying. The
crowd, regardless of the stoppage to the traffic, in-
stantly proceeded to unhxid the hay into the street.
The smothered voice ur2:ed them to make liaste ; but
the feelings of the people may be imagined when the
cart was empty and nol)ody was found, while Alexan-
dre and his friend walked off laughing at the unex-
pected results of their trick.
The individual who wishes to know anything tkbout
this wonderful art must learn to distinguish distances,
and be able, by giving the proper pitch to the voice, to
make it reach exactly to the })oint indicated. He
must also know that the attention of the audience
should be directed either by the eyes or a gesture of the
hand to the sjjot whence the voice is supposed to issue.
In order to cover the features of any nuxh-rn ventrilo-
(piial entertainment, I will here give the rules for the
two voices required, with an example of tiie dialogue
in each case.
VENTRILOQUISM. 453
VOICE I.
The first is tlie voice in whicli Frederic Maccabe
excelled. To acquire tliis voice, speal?: one word or
sentence in your own natural tones ; tlien open tlie
mouth and fix the jaws fast, as thougli you were trying
to hinder anyone from opening them farther, or shut-
ting them ; draw the tongue bade in a ball ; speak the
same words, and the sound, instead of being formed in
the mouth will be formed in the pharynx. Great at-
tention must be paid to- holding the jaws rigid. The
sound will then be found to imitate a voice heard from
the other side of a door when it is closed, or under a
floor, or through a wall. To ventriloquize with this
voice, let the operator stand with his back to the audi-
ence against a door. Give a gentle tap at the door,
and call aloud in a natural voice, inquiring, " Who is
there?" This will have the effect of drawing the at-
tention of the audience to the person supposed to be
outside. Then fix the jaw as described, and utter in
voice No. 1 (explained above) any words you please,
such as, *' I want to come in." Ask questions in the
natural voice and answer in the other. When you
have done this, open the door a little, and hold a con-
versation with the imaginary person. As the door is
now open, it is obvious that the voice must be altered,
for a voice will not sound to the ear Avhen a door is
open the same as when closed. Therefore, the voice
must be made to appear face to face, or close to the
ventriloquist. To do this the voice must be altered
from the original note or pitch, but be made in an-
other part of the mouth. This is done by closing the
lips tight and drawing one corner of the mouth down-
wards, ar towards the ear. Then let the lips open at
that corner only, the other part to remain closed.
451 VE^•TKILOQL•lSM.
Next bi-eatlio, as it were, the words out of tlu; orifice
foniu'd. Do not speak distinctly, but exi^'I llu"
])reatli in short puff's at each word, and as h)ud as i)os-
sihle. Bv so doing you will cause the illusion in the
mind oi" the listeners, that they hear the same voice
which they heard when the door was closed, hut which
is now heard more distinctly and nearer, on account of
the door being open. This voice must always be used
when the ventrilo(iuist wishes it to a[)i)ear that the
sound comes from some one close at hand, but through
an obstacle. The description of voice and dialogue
mav be varied, as in the following example : —
THE SUFFOCATED VICTIM.
A lar<''o i)()X or close cuijboard is used indiscrimi-
nately, as it may be handy. The student will rap or
kick the box ai)parently by accident. The voice will
then utter a hoarse and subdued groan, apparently
from the box or closet.
Student ([)ointiiig to the box with an air of astonish-
ment) : What is that?
Voice : I won't do so any more. I am nearly dead.
Student : Who are you? How caftie you there?
Voice: I only wanted to see what was going on.
Let me out, do.
Student: But I don't know who you are.
Voice : Oh yes, you do.
Stmlciit : Wlio arc yoii?
\'oirr : VoUl' ohi scliooircjiow, 'I'oUl . "> oU
know inc.
SludiMit : \\'hy, hr"s in Canada.
Voice (shari)ly) : No Ik; ain'l,ln''s lien-; but be
<jui<k.
VENTRILOQUISM. 455
Student (opening the lid) : Perhaps he's come by
the underground railroad ? Hallo !
Voice (not so muffled, as described in directions:
Now then, give us a hand.
Student (closing the lid or door sharply) : No, I
won't.
Voice (as before): Have pity (Tom, or Jack, or
Mr. , as the case may be), or I shall be choked.
Student : I don't believe you are what you say.
Voice : Why don't you let me out and see before I
am dead ?
Student (opening and shutting the lid and varying
the voice accordingly) : Dead ! not you. "When did
you leave Canada ?
Voice : Last week. Oh ! I am chokins:.
Student: Shall I let him out? (opening the door.)
There's no one here.
VOICE II.
The second voice is the more easy to be acquired.
It is the voice by which all ventriloquists make a sup-
posed person speak from a long distance, or from, or
through the ceiling. In the first place, with your back
to the audience, direct their attention to the ceiling by
jjointing to it or by looking intently at it. Call loudly,
and ask some question, as though you believed some
person to be concealed there. Make your own voice
very distinct, and as near the lips as possible, inas-
much as that will help the illusion. Then in exactly
the same tone and jDitch answer ; but, in orderthat the
same voice may seem to proceed from the point indi-
cated, the words must be formed at the back part of
the roof of the mouth. To do this the lower jaw
must be drawn back and held there, the mouth open,
which will cause the palate to be elevated and drawn
45G VENTKILOQUISM.
nearer to tlie pharynx, and tlic sound will l)e reflected
in that cavity, and appear to come from the roof. Too
much attention cannot be paid to the manner in whicli
the breath is used in this voice. When speaking to
the supposed person, expel the words with a deej),
(juick breath.
^Vhen answering in the imitative manner, the breath
must be held back and cxi)clled very slowly, and the
voice will come in a subdued and muffled manner, little
above a whisj)er, but so as to be well distinguished.
To cause the supposed voice to come nearer by de-
grees, call loudly, and say, " I want you down here,"
or words to that elVect, At tlic same time make a mo-
tion downwards with your hand. Hold some conver-
sation with the voice and cause it to sav, '* I am
coming," or " Here I am," each time indicating the
descent with the hand. AVhen the voice is supposed
to approach nearer, the sound must alter, to denote
the progress of the movement. Therefore Idt the
voice at every supposed step, roll, as it were, by de-
grees, from the pharynx more into the cavity of the
mouth, and at each supposed step, contracting the
opening of the mouth, until the lips are drawn u[) as if
you were whistling. By so doing the cavity of the
mouth will be very much enlarged. This will cause
the voice to be obscured, and so a[)poar to come nearer
by degrees. At the same time, care must be taken
not to articulate the consonant sounds plainly, as that
would cause the disarrangement of the lips and cavity
of the mouth ; niid in all imitative voices the conso-
nants must scarcely be articulated at all, especially if
the vcntrilorpiist faces the andionco. For example :
suppose the imitative voici; is made to say, " Mind
what you are doing, you bad bo}'," it must l)e spoken,
as if it were written, *' 'ind 'ot you're doing, you 'ad
VENTRILOQUISM. 457
whoy." This kind of articulution may be practised
by forming tlie words in the pharynx, and then send-
ing them out of the mouth by sudden expulsions of the
breath clean from the lungs at every word. This is
most useful in ventriloquism, and to illustrate it we
will take the man on the roof as an illustration. This
is an example almost invariably successful, and is con-
stantly used by skilled professors of the art. As we
have before repeatedly intimated, the eyes and atten-
tion of the audience must be directed to the supposed
spot from whence the illusive voice is supposed to pro-
ceed : —
Student: Are you up there, Jem?
Voice: Hallo! who's that?
Student : It's I ! Are you nearly finished?
Voice: Only three more slates to put on, master.
Student : I want 3'ou here, Jem.
Voice : I am coming directly.
Student : Which way, Jem ?
Voice : Over the roof and down the trap. (Voice is
supposed to be moving, as the student turns and points
with his finger.)
Student : "Which way ?
Voice (nearer) : Through the trap and down the
stairs.
Student : How long shall you be ?
Voice : Onlv a few minutes. I am comin£i:as fast as
I can.
The voice now approaches the door, and is taken up
by the same tone, but produced as in the first voice.
I have room to add only a few polyphonic imita-
tions. To imitate the tormenting bee, the student
must use considerable pressure on his chest, as if he
was about to groan suddenly, but instead of which, the
458 VENTIIILOQUISM.
sound must be confined iind prolonged in the throat :
the greater the pressure, the higher will be the faint
note jiroduccd, and which Avill perfectly resemble the
buzzing of the bee or wasp. Now, to imitate the
buzzing of a blue])ottle fly, it will be necessary for the
sound to be made with the lips instead of the throat;
this is done l)y closing the lips very tight, except at
one corner, where a small aperture is left ; fill that
cheek full of wind, l)ut not the other, then slowly
blow or force the wind contained in the cheek out of
the ai)erture : if this is done pro[)erly, it will cause a
sound exactly like the buzzing of a bluebottle fly.
The noise caused by ))laning and sawinof wood can
also be imitated without much difficulty, and it causes
a great deal of amusement. The student must, how-
ever, bear in mind that every action must be imitated
as well as the noise, for the ej'e assists to delude the
ear. We have even seen ventrilocjui.sts carry this eye
deception so far as to hayo a few shavings to scatter
as they proceed, and a piece of wood to fall when the
sawing is ended. To imitate planing, the student
nnist stand at a table a little distance from the audi-
ence, and appear to take hold of a i)lane and push it
forward : the sound as of a plane is made as thouirh
you were dwelling on the last part of the word \\\isJl —
dwell U[)on the sh a little, as tsh y and then clip it short
by causing the tongue to close with the palate, then
over again. Letters will not convey the })eculiai- sound
of sawiuiT — it must be studied from nature.
CHAP TEE XXXIII.
" ON THE ROAD."
Theatrical life is full enough of business and bustle,
even when a company is pla3dug a long engagement in
a large city ; but when " on the road," travelling fi'om
town to town — playing here a week and there a week,
with one-night stands in the intervening "villages,"
actors and managers find it no easy task to retain their
health and spirits, and keep up with their " dates ; "
and with all but a few organizations located almost
permanently in New York, thus flitting from place to
place — a round of anxiety and railroad experiences
that lasts through forty weeks of each year — makes
up the easy, glorious, and blissful existence that so
many people outside of the profession imagine is the
unalloyed portion of those who are in it.
As much of the business of a company's season as
can be arranged in New York during the summer, is
attended to by the manager. He meets the prominent
theatrical managers of the country on " The Square "
and makes dates at their respective houses for his at-
traction. Havino; located his route as to the large cities
he proceeds to fill in the intervals with one or two-
night stands in smaller places, and this being done he
and his company are ready to take the road just as
soon as the season begins. The contracts for cities
like Chicago, Cincinnati, Louisville, New Orleans, and
St. Louis are made and signed in New York during
(459)
400 ON THE ROAD.
the summer vacation. The others fire completed while
the company is on the road.
Ahead of every attraction is a press agent, herald,
avant-courier, or, as he hegan to call himsolC two
years ago, a business manager. When he invades a
town the first place he makes a rusii for is the most
availal)le opeia house or hall, with the proprietor of
which he makes a contract like the followinir: —
Belleville, Ili 1882.
Thrs is to certify that I have rented the hall (room
or theatre) known as to the jSIadison
Square Theatre Company for night. . . . ,
viz for the sum of
dollars per night, which includes license, stage hands,
ushers, ticket-seller, etc. Said hall, passage-way, and
stage to be well lighted, and also to be kept clean and
well warmed, with services of janitor and privilege of
matinee included.
Signed:
Lessee.
WitULSH :
IJusincss ]Mana<;er.
Numerous other contracts are made, — for hauling
baggage, for carriag<!S and oiuiiibus, lor orchestra,
etc. The hotel contract, wiiich is as follows, is very
explicit : —
'* This is to certify that the laniUord of
does hercbv a<>;rec with the A;rent of the
Madison Square Tiieatre Company to board and lodge
the said conq)any, consisting of person.^, more
or less, for days, more or less, at the rate
of cents p(!r day for each person. Three
meals and one (night's) lodging to constitute a day's
ON THE ROAD. 461
board, and for anj time less than one day the charge
shall be at the same rate per diem as is above men-
tioned. Fires to be furnished at cents
per each room. No charge to be made under the
above agreement providing the party see fit to go else-
where. Agent to be kept at same rates.
Landlord."
Having got through with making contracts the agent
begins to "bill the town." The amount of billing
that is done depends largely upon the reputation of
the star or attraction, and the manner in which the
newspapers have been worked. An actress like Mary
Anderson puts out but about one hundred three-sheet
bills — a three-sheet bill being the ordinary poster
that is seen upon a single bill-board — in any of the
laro-e cities. Sarah Bernhardt and Adelina Patti, who
were kept before the public by the press for many
months before they came to this country, needed but
a few three-sheet bills and a simple announcement of
their coming in the newspapers. Mrs. Langtry,
Christine Nilsson, and Henry Irving will be billed in
the same economical way when they reach our shores.
Edwin Booth and John McCuUough, like Mary Ander-
son, use only a small quantity of three-sheet bills for
advertising on the walls. These people require few
lithographs, and are likewise fortunate in not being re-
quired to buy large space in the papers. Nearly all
the minor melodramatic and comedy attractions take
to the circus style of advertising. Charles L. Davis, of
"Alvin Joslyn" fame, who wears the largest diamond
and carries the finest watch in the profession, boasts
that he always likes to bill against a circus. When he
was in St. Louis during the season of 1881-2, Mr.
W. R. Cottrell, the city bill-poster, told me that Davis
402 ox Tim iioAD.
put out :il)out four thousand sheets, nnd evcrlastinirly
spi-inklod tlic windows with colored lithographs. Mr.
Cottrcll also told mo that this does not approach the
lavishness of circuses in decoratini; the fences and
walls and hill-boards of cities. These latter usually
put out not less than ten thousand sheets, and the
Great London Show a few seasons ago would sjjread
from eighteen to twenty thousand sheets before the
eyes of a city having a population of four hundred
thousand. The bill-poster gets three cents per sheet for
posting, and $1 per hundred for distributing litho-
graphs, so that, as will be understood, a circus or a
theatrical attraction like Charles L. Davis is a })onanza
to the bill-poster.
From the big typo of the bill-boards the advance
agent uaturall}^ turns his attention to the smaller, but
prol)al)ly more etfective, type of the newspaper. lie
rushes into the editorial rooms like a whirlwind, if he
is a cyclonic aijent, asks in a voice of thunder for the
dramatic critic, an<l when that gentleman is pointed
out, after depositing a gilt-edged card and bestrewing
the journalist's desk with a mass of notices from the
Oakland Bnijlc, the Bragtown l^oomerang , ami forty
other equally important and severely critical journals,
proceeds to talk so loudly that he disturbs all the
writers in the room, and has the managing editor on
the point nineteen times out of twenty of ordering him
out of the otTice.
" I tell you what, my boy," he shouts, " w(> just
laid 'cm out cold in J^ilot Knob last night. Just got a
tele<Tr:ini from the inaiKiLTcr. See here: 'House
c
jammed to the doors; jiundreds turned away; great
enthusiasm ; big sales to-morrow night.' Now that's no
gag, but the dead srjuai-e, bang-up truth, s'clp me
God."
ON THE ROAD. 463
" I see the Horse-Tail Bar Sentinel gives you folks
fits," the dramatic critic quietly suggests. " It says
your i^lay is bad and 3'our company worse — how is
that?"
" Oh that fellow is a bloody duffer," the agent re-
plies at the top of his voice. " Tell you the truth, we
had a little trouble with him about comps. He wanted
a bushel of 'em, and because we wouldn't give 'cm up
blasted us. But we did a rattling srood business all
the same, and don't you forget it? "
And in this way the cyclonic agent rattles along,
tormenting everybody within hearing distance until he
gets ready to go ; and when he is gone there is a sigh
of relief all around the office. The manaorins: editor
comes out and asks the dramatic critic : —
" Who was that d— d fool? "
"The agent of the Doorstep Comic Opera Com-
pany," the dramatic critic replies.
" Well, the next time he comes in here just tell him
this is not a deaf and dumb asvlum. We don't want
any serenades from side-show blowers. Don't give
his d — d old company more than two lines, and make
it less than that if you can."
Fortunately for the profession this style of advance
agent is dying out, and men who understand news-
papers better are coming in. There are many real
gentlemen, clever, quiet and effective, in the business,
like Mr. E. D. Price, formerly of the Detroit Post
and Tribune; Frank Farrell, who graduated from the
New Orleans Times office, and others who have for-
saken journalism for the equally arduous, but more
lucrative positions that enterprising and long-headed
theatrical managers offer them.
The advance agent sees that the hall or theatre is in
proper condition, looks after the sale of reserved seats,
464 ON THE ROAD.
distributes his " comps " as jiidiciou.^^ly as circum-
stances will allow, and confronts everywhere he o-oes
the cunning and omnipresent dead-head — that abomi-
nation of the show business who will spend $5 with an
agent to get a free ticket from him, when admission
and a reserved seat may be i)urchased for $1. If the
dead-head fails to circumvent the agent he (piictly
awaits the coming of the company, when he lies in am-
bush for the manager, of whom he demands a pass or
his life. In fact, the manager often has to undo a
great deal that his agent has done in a town, and to do
over again much that the avant-courior had seemin«Wv
1 . O J
done m a satisfactory manner. The company, too,
frequently iind the way not so smooth or pleasant as
the agent has represented it to Itc : the hall or theatre
in which the performance is to be given is often a
dingy, dismal place that is not only without conven-
iences of any kind, but what is worse, may not be
proof against anything like demonstrative weather;
the hotel fare is bad, and the accommodations no bet-
ter ; the mayor, the town council, and sometimes the
prominent citizens, must have free passes ; the local
papers want hatfuls of complimentary tickets, and
with a house half filled with dead-heads and one-third
of the benches empty, they nmst, in the face of most
discouraging circumstances, appear as entertainers or
meet with the severest denunciations of the pigmy
press and the most galling criticism from the ungrate-
ful army of dead-heads.
Now and then an actor or an actress contracts a cold
during a barn-storming tour, and the nomadic life not
being calculated to aid the healing power of medicines,
the seeds of death arc sown, and soon the played-out
l)layer sinks from sight, and without causinff a siuirle
ripple upon the surface of the great sea of life, goes
ON THE ROAD.
465
down to the grave. The agent and the manager, too,
share this danger, and altogether the life of profes-
<
o
a
W
H
o
sional people when " on the road " is not so bright or
joyful as to cause any one acquainted with their trials
and troubles to envy them their lot.
so
C II A r T K K XXXIV.
THE GRr:EN-EYED AND OTHER MONSTERS.
To the outside Avorlcl the player's life seems always
bright — a rose-carpeted path with sunshine forever
strayiiiij about the feet and l)rcath of the sweetest
gardens always in their atnios[)herc. To the i)hiyers
themselves, notwithstanding the hard work, it has the
same beauty and fascinations that other professions
have for those wlio have entered them. Lotta receiv-
ing the wild i)laudits of her newsboy admirers — for
all over the country the street Aral)s express their
wiHinij:ness to " do ennvthin' in de worhl fnr Lottie " —
accepting the baskets of llowers tiiey send her with the
pennies they have pooled, and doing her utmost to i-e-
spond to a score of encores in response to their appeals
is as charming a little picture of i)erfect hajjpiness and
contentment as we could find anywhere. Judic, the
great opera l)oufFe singer, peddling cherries, at the
great charity fair in Paris, from two i)anniers borne by
a iaekass, crvinir, " \^\\V mv cherries, monsieur. I
don't sell them dear. Five francs, the little basket,"
is a noble example of the geneVosity that tlistinguishes
the profession of which she is a mcnd)er. A poi)ular
American actress selling photogra[)hs for a little crip-
ple she met in the street, and who had been rei)nired
at several, is another example of the leaning towards
charity and the kind-heartedness of a class of people
against whom many bigots raise their hands and to
whom thry tnrn their backs, sa3Mng, as the Kev. Mr.
(4G6)
THE GREEN-EYED AND OTHER MONSTERS. 407
Sabini said, that ho didn't want to have anything to do
with actors. The reader has probably heard the story,
but I will repeat it here : George Holhmd, the actor, died
in his eightieth year, on December 20, 1870. He was a
player of exceeding merit in his day, and his demise
was widely and deeply regretted. Friends gathered
around his casket in the awful moment when they were
to part with him forever. The rites of the church were
wanted for him, of course, and an actor friend went to
Rev. Salniii and asked him to officiate. He declined,
saying: " I want to have nothing to do with an actor.
There is a little place around the corner were they do
these things." And sure enough there was, and the
actors took their dead friend into " the little place
around the corner," and Dr. Houghton said the last
prayer over the dead player. That " j)lace " is now
known among actors and by the public too as " the
little church around the corner." It is the Church of
the Transfiguration, and is on Twenty-ninth Street
near Madison Avenue.
It is only occasionally that scandal is given by the
theatrical profession, but these few and far-between
occasions are sufficient to keep alive the bad opinion
that certain people have of actors and actresses. It
is true the class is weak at many points, as are other
classes, but as I have urged before, they maintain
a higher standard of morality and adorn their circle
better than any other people whose paths are strewn as
plentifully with temptations. At the beginning of the
eighteenth century the stage was in very bad condi-
tion because society was in a worse condition, and if
there is frailty in the ranks of actresses of to-day, and
weaknesses among actors, it is because their sur-
roundings compel them to be what they are, and even
under this compulsion they can hold their heado
4G8 THE OREEN-EYED AXD OTHER MONSTERS.
as high as their neighbors and h)()k (hem in the
face without feeling that they arc an}' worse than the
rest of the workl, even if they are so bad. It is my
pur[)ose to say something about the dark side of the-
atrical life that tlie reader may see just what there is
ill Ihe talk indulged by the scandal-mongers of the
anti-theatrical class, and that it may be known that
their indiscretions and their sins are no more heinous
than the sins and transgressions of other people, and
that in very few instances are they the outcome of the
actor or actress's professional surrouudings.
The estranu^ement of Edwin Booth and his wife or
the divorce of Edwin Fori'est from his wife did not
cause the world to think any the less of these gentle-
men as actors, and the events did not bring any op-
probrium upon the iirofession. Sarah Bernhardt's
open avowal that her children were fatherless and they
were only "accidents" was a frank confession of an
early indiscretion that almost everyljody was read}' to
forgive. She was not received by society in this coun-
try, but society knelt before her at the shrine of
Thespis, as they did at the feet of Mme. Patti, who
Haunted Nicolini in the face of the ])nblic, as the suc-
cessor of the Marquis de Caux in all the lights of a
husband although there never had l)een any marriage
ceremony to make the tenor the legal companion o(
the beautil'ul diva. For the sake of their art the sins
of these two gifted women were partially forgotten,
and while society could not o})en its doors to Mdlle.
Bernhardt or Mine. Patti, it went readily 1o the o[)en
doors through which the presence of the actress and of
the sonijstress was to be reached.
A New York correspondent says: "Having men-
tioned two French actresses, let mo drop into the true
story of Bernhardt and Coloinbicr's quarrel, and the
THK GREEN-EYED AND OTHER MONSTERS. 4G9
book about America which has been put forth in Colom-
bier's name. When Bernhardt came over here, she
was accompanied by Jelian Soudan, a Parisian Avriter.
He was very small, closely buttoned up to the neck,
very bushy haired, and very much like a particularly
mild and girlish divinity student. For all that, he was
the accredited temporary lover of Bernhardt. His
other errand was to write an account of her tour, to
be published as from her own pen. While in this city
he was an object of considerable ridicule, and his name
was maltreated from Jehan Soudan into Sudden
Johnny. But Colombier, the fair and fat actress of
Bernhardt' s company, did not regard him as comic.
Quite on the contrary, she fell in love with him, and
he fell in love with her. However, this new reciproc-
ity of hearts was kept hidden until near the end of
the Journey. Then it came out through Sudden
Johnny carelessly kissing Colombier too loud in a thin-
partitioned dressing-room. The smack was heard by
Bernhardt. I don't ima2;ine that she cared much for
Johnny, or would have missed him from the ranks of
her favored admirers ; but it made her just as mad
as she could be to lose him to Colombier. Now,
Colombier' s beauty was marred by a deflection of her
nose to one side. That's not much, for the chances
are ten to one that the sides of your own face don't
exactly agree. Try a glass critically, and see. Well,
when Colombier emerged from her room with Johnny,
to go on the stage, Sarah regarded her quizzically, and
then said something in French equivalent to : —
" 'Ah, my dear, I fear you kiss too much on one side
of your mouth. It has really and truly bent your nose
awry. Do let the other side have some of Jehan' s
attentloUo'
"No more was said. But that Johnny and Colom-
470 riiK (Mjr.KN-KVKi) and otiiku MON'STKUS.
biiT })l()th'(l :i deep rovengo is cvi(lei>t, for tlic l)0()k
ai)i)e;irs ill Paris with the name of Coloinbier instead
of Bernhardt as anthor, and auu)n<x its numerous
ridiculous lies al)out Americans are some spiteful little
flings at Sarah. Thus Sudden Johnny gets even."
Mine. Patti, loo, had a voungnian with her — Michael
Mortici-, brothel- of the editor of the Paris Figaro —
who was to write a book for her, but in St. Louis he
spoke two freely to a ncwspajjcr reporter about Mme,
Patti's relations to Nicolini, and Mortier's life was there-
after made so miserable that he was glad soon to make
a bee line for Paris, where it is to be ho[)ed he is at
present .
A London correspondent tells us how a favorite
actress of that place faced three husbands, and as it is
in order to continue turning tlie crank of the scandal
machine while foreign talent is the material to be
irround, I will give the paragraph. He says: "The
true glory of the Lyceum Theatre is that English Bern-
hardt, Miss Elh-n Terrv. This bjue-eyi'd, bhmde-
locked, Saxon siren is not a radiant be;iut\' as was the
ill-fated AchdaideNeilson, but she is something better —
she is a diarnieuse, as the Fi'cnch call any one pos-
sessing that ])eculiar rciuinine — which she exercises so
powerfuly — niagnc^tism. She is the most gifted,
and withal the most naturallv graceful, woman that I
hav(! ever seen. The little movements and artistic
attitudes of Sarah BeiMihardt would seem ibrced and
artilicial Ix'side that uuboin charm an<l harmonv of
gesture, unstudied and perfect as the ripple of tall
grasses or th<; swa\ing of the branches ot" a weeping
wilh)W beneath a summer bree/e. She is pure
womanlv, everv inch of \\vv. She cannot be awkward
even when she tries ; and I >-aw her try the other night
in ' The Belle's Stratagem;' but instead of transform-
THE GREEN-EYED AND OTHER MONSTERS. 471
ing Letitia Handy into a country hoyden in accordance
with the text, she only succeeded in assuming a pretty
espieglerie that, had I been Doricourt, would have
driven nie to catch her straightway in my arms and
kiss her, declaring that she was charming anyhow. Off
the stage I am told that she is quite as fascinating as
when before the foot-lights. She has proved the extent
of her power of enchantment by successfully winning
and wedding three husbands, all of whom are still
living, divorce and not death having released her from
two of them. In fact, it is reported that while walking
in the Grosvenor Gallery recently, with her present
spouse, Mr. Kelly, she came face to face with her two
former husbands, who were promenading there to-
gether, and that the only embarrassed personage of
the quartette was Mr. Kelly ; and they do say that the
law will soon be called into requisition to break the
bonds that unite her to her present spouse, and that
she will then become the wife of a prominent English
actor. Truly this wonderful and interesting lady
ought to inscribe on her wedding-ring the motto said
to have been adopted by the old Countess of Desmond
on the occasion of her fourth marriage : —
If I survive
I'll have five.
Jealousy is at the bottom of nearly every scandal
connected with the stage, or with people who have
been on the stage. The story of Lizzie McCall's
crime is a peculiarly sad one. She had been a favorite
burlesque actress, and was playing young heroines with
Boucicault in 1880 when she met and married Geors^e
Barry Wall, a young man of twenty-five years, she
being twenty-three. She promised him to leave the
stage forever, and in order that she might not be
47-2
THE GUEEX-EVED AND OTHER MOXSTER.'^.
placed ill the vray of tomptation Wall made his homo
1!
>
in New Utrecht, Long Island, removing thence to New
I'oiU. Jealousy early made its appearance in thei;*
THE GREEN-E-iED AND OTHER MONSTERS. 473
home, and their married life was not happy or peaceful.
The}'' lived together for eighteen months, however, until
one fine morning after a violent quarrel she snatched
lip a pistol and shot her husband through the throat.
A Russian theatre not long since was the scene of a
real drama which dejserves a place among the serious
accidents of the staofe. The two leading actresses
were Frenchwomen who had come to St. Petersburg
together as friends. They had occupied the same
house, and lived on terms of the warmest intimacy
for some time. Then a young swell, who had enrolled
himself among the admirers of one of them, began to
pay court to the other. The consequence was a jeal-
ousy which finally led to a separation of the whilom
friends. They remained members of the same com-
pany, however, and their jealousies found vent about
the theatre. One nisfht after a dinner washed down
with much champagne, the jilted actress became very
violent, and attempted to assault her rival in her
dressing-room. She was prevented, and went off
threatening vengeance. The course of the piece
brought them together in an impassioned scene, in
the conclusion of which the one had to warn the other
off with a dagger. Heated with wine, her jealousy
inflamed by the presence of her faithless lover in a
stage box, the jilted artiste lost control of herself, and
instead of a warning, dealt her rival a stab. The
wounded woman fell bleed in 2; to the stage. For-
tunately she was not fatally hurt, and her assailant
escaped with an authoritative order to leave Russia,
and stay away.
Miss Bertha Welby, who is a popular and talented
actress, was a member of the " Only a Farmer's
Daughter" company, of which Miss Lilian Cleves
was the star. The two ladies could not get along
474
TIIK GKEEX-EYKD AN'I) OTHER MOXSTERS.
together. Miss Wclhy iiisLstod tliut Mis.s Clcvcs was
jealous of lier rival's suceess ; and so it went on,
until at last a low ruffian visited Miss AVelby in her
dressing-room one night, after the performance, and
demanded money from her for having applauded her
in several towns. She was afraid of the fellow, she
said, and so paid him the sum he asked — $1'). She
then told him to go, and ho went ; but Miss Cloves, it
BLACKMAILING AN ACTRESS.
appears, liad assembled the members of the company
at the door of the dressing-room to witness the J^ay-
inent of the man, who, as she declared, had led the
clarpic that was making Miss "Welby a greater actress
than the star. Miss Welby asserted that the whoh;
thing was a piece of blackmail, and that Miss Clcvcs
had instigated it.
Operatic stars arc violent sometimes in those exhi-
bitions of jealousy. Jt wilM)e remembered llial at the
last Cincinnati music festival, Gcrster absolutely re-
THE GREEN-EYED AND OTHER MONSTERS. 475
fused to sing if Miss Caiy preceded her, and the Hun-
garian prima donna was induced to appear only by tlie
jrraceful withdrawal of the fair American songstress.
Miss Kelloijsr JHid Mile. Roze had a bitter Avar in St.
Louis in 1879, on account of their dressing-rooms, the
American prima donna insisting on having the best the
Grand Opera House afforded. She got it at last, and
was shocked when she heard a story to the effect that
Wakefield , then one of the proprietors, had a peep-hole
above the dressing-room which he not only made use of
himself but invited his friends to use.
The jealousy of Mrs. McKee Rankin (Kitty Blanch-
ard) has more than once been made the subject of news-
paper articles. She thought her robust husband went
through the love scene with the Widow (Miss Eva
Randolph) in the play with too lavish a display of
affection, and the green-eyed monster took possession
of her. She stood in the wings every night and
watched the scene, and the more she watched it the
madder she got until at last she demanded from- her
husband that Miss Randolph be dismissed. This Mr.
Rankin sternly refused to do. Then Mrs. Rankin re-
fused to play, and a clever young lady was given the part
of Billy Piper. The newspapers praised the new Billy
so highly that Mrs. Rankin hurried back to resume the
part, but remained cold toward and entirely estranged
from her husband. After some time the wound was
healed and the couple reunited. There were several
split-ups of this kind, but Mr. and Mrs. Rankin are
now living happily together, and it is to be hoped that
the success of their new play, " 49," will keep them
happy forever.
Now and then the jealous actress's feelings are ex-
pressed in a rather ridiculous manner. During the run
of a spectacular play in one of the large cities one of
47G
THE GKEEX-EYED AND OTHER MONSTEUS.
those old chaps who like to linger behind the scenes
!ind tickle the fairies under the chin succeeded iu inakin«^'
hiinslf the admirer of one of the ladies — one who
played a i)rince or something of that kind. He
brought her flowers every night, took her to supper
.jj-ALui:>v,
after the play, and often j)aid for a ride under the
starry night at a time when he shouM have been rest-
ing his hoary head upon jiis ])iI]ow at home. He kept
tiiis up for a while; then he suddenly turned his at-
tention to another gill, who was doing a ski])ping-rope
THH GREEN-EYED AND OTHER MONSTERS. 477
dance during an interval in the pla3^ He 1)egan to
bring her flowers and to feed her on midnight oysters,
and to take her on moonliglit rides. The pretty prince
stood it as long as she could ; then she made up her
mind to be revenged on the old deceiver. She waited
one night until she saw him talking to the skipping-
rope dancer, when she picked uj) a broom, and steal-
ing to the opposite side of the scene, made a high hit
at his plug, hat, just as he was presenting the rival a
bouquet, and knocked the piece of head-gear clear into
the outfield. The ancient Lothario felt around amon<r
the fcAV hairs on the top of his head to see whether
a piece of skull had not been chipped off; the skipping-
rope dancer laughed ; the pretty prince hauled off and
was about to bat the bouquet to second base when the
dancer danced, and what remained to do was to advise
the " old gray " to go, which he did rapidly after re-
gaining possession of his battered hat. He was ad-
vised that if he returned any more the broom would
be used upon himself instead of his hat ; and the scenes
that he had haunted so long knew him no more after
that nioht.
A New York wife wondered for a Ions: time where
her husband went at night. At least she learned that he
haunted a down-town theatre. She knew her husband
was very fond of the drama, but was astonished when
she found out that he was patronizing the play without
taking her along, so she dressed up one evening and
going up to the box-office, asked the young man whose
smiling face shone through the window, if Mr. So-and-
So was there? Now she had gone to the right source
for her information. Mr. So-and-So had taken away
the affections of one of the actresses from the man in
the box-office ; therefore the man in the box-office
manfully replied that Mr. So-and-So was back in Miss
47.S
Tin: (;kki:n-kvi:i) and (vriii:u monstkus.
Whatdvccallcr's clrcssiiiir-rooin. Would the inaii in
the box-office bo kiiid enoui:;h to show Mr. So-aiid-So's
wife where the dressing-room was ? IIi; would,' most
gladly. Calling his assistant to the window the
treasurer took the lady in llirongli the stage entrance
EDWAKU KKNDALL.
and pointed out the dressing-room. Sure enough
there was Mr. So-and-So in very close relation and
very close conversation Avith Miss "Wliatdyccallcr, who
beiuf a ballet irirl, in llic act of getting herself into
THE GREEN-EYED AND OTHER MONSTERS. 479
her gauze and spangles, had little else on than her
tights. The husband was astounded ; the wife was
boiling over with rage ; the dancer did not know what
to make of it. The husband said that there was blood
in his spouse's eye and fled the scene. Mrs. So-and-
So then turned her attention to the lady in summer
costume, and there was a war of words that ended in
the actress snapping her fingers in the wife's face,
while the latter, unable to do or say anything in her
rage, strutted out after her faithless lord and master,
who was afraid to return home for three days, and did
not return until he saw a " personal " in the Herald
saying that all would be forgiven and no questions
asked.
The meanest trick, I think, that was ever prompted
by jealousy was one in which a well-known comedian
and a handsome juvenile lady were made the victims.
Having determined to go to a fancy dress ball, they
borrowed a Mephistopheles and Venus costume, and
having dressed at the theatre in "which they were play-
ingj took their clothes to their boarding-house, the
comedian retaining only his ulster and the young lady
only her silk fur-lined cloak. In the same house the
leading lady roomed, and as the comedian had been
somewhat attentive to her she grew jealous when she
saw him escortino; the other flame to the ball, and that
both might be. taught a lesson she resolved upon a plan
of action which she faithfully carried out. The
comedian and his companion had plenty of fun at the
ball. They returned to their boarding-house about three
A. M. Both had latch-keys, but they wouldn't work.
Somebody had fastened down the bolt. What were
they to do? It was a cold morning with snow on the
irround and snow still fallinsr. Their carriao;e had
gone ; they didn't wish to go to a hotel in masquerade
480 TUF f;F>KE\-KVFn wn otiikii :moxi5ters.
OUT IN THE COLD.
stylo, so they resolved to stiek it out until the door
would 1)C opened. And they did so. The comedian
THE GREEN-EYED AND OTHER MONSTERS. 481
wrapped his ulster around him and sat down on the
doorstep ; the young lady gathered her cloak around
her as tightly as she could and stood up in a corner of
the entrance, shivering and wondering what the people
thought who passed by and looked at them. They re-
mained there three hours, and when the door was
opened, it was the leading lady who did the opening.
She laughed as if she would lose her life in the effort
when she saw the plight the two were in, and said as
they passed up the hall that she was sorry she had put
down that bolt when she came home, but she thought
they were both in the house.
The story of an actor's jealousy is nicely told by a
New York paper in the following : A handsome young
actress attached regularly to one of the New York
theatres has a husband and a baby, a sickly little thing,
and the husband is outrageously jealous, all the more
that this season he has done "job work," which has
kept him " on the road " pretty constantly. Lately
he " came in," the " combination " with which he was
connected having " gone up." He arrived unexpect-
edly late one afternoon, and found his wife out. On
the table lay a note addressed to her in a masculine
hand. It was open and ran thus : —
' ' Dear Friend ; I do not think you have any cause
to be anxious al)out the baby. It is only cutting its
teeth a little hard — that's all. However, as you de-
sire it, and say it would relieve your mind while you
are away at the theatre, I will come to-night about
nine and stay all night Avith you. Don't speak of the
trouble. I shall only be too glad to let you get a little
sleep after being up so much with baby.
Your true friend, K. S. Stanton, M. D."
The husband was furious at this note, seemingly so
482 THE CiUEEN-EYED AND OTllKU MONSTEUS.
harmless. He thrust it into his pocket, and witliout
waitini' to see his wife strode from the house. He
had now, ho thoui^ht, what he had h)Mg sus})ccted,
proof of his wife's infidelity. Why, it was shamless !
Dr. Staunton would pass the night, would he, and
blame it on the ba])y ! hut he should find that there
was a husband around ready to deal terrible vengeance
ujion the betrayer. Ilis feelings were not i)leasant
ones, as he lay perdue the rest of the day, nursing his
wrath, to keep it warm. When the pretty young
actress came home she was told that a gentleman had
called and gone away in a great hurry, leaving no
name. At about Iialf-past ten that evening, while she
"was at the theatre, the door of her bed-room was
dragged open furiously, and the enraged husl)and
rushed in. lie looked around under the bed and into
the closets, but found no man.
There were, however, two persons in the room.
One an infant slumbering peacefully in the crib, the
other a lady sitting at a small table on Avhich lay sev-
eral little bits of white paper into which she was
pouring some globules from a tiny bottle. Her eyes
were blue, her complexion a pure pink and white, and
her hair, curling in loose ringlets over her well-formed
head, was just touched with gray. She looked up as-
tonished and said : —
" Don't make such a noise; you'll wake the child.
Are you a burglar or what do you want? "
The husband paused in his fruitless search and re-
plied : " I want that man."
"AVhat man?"
" The man that's made an appointment Avith my
wife for to-niirht."
" Who is your wife and what business have you in
Miss 's bed-room?" asked the lady.
THE GREEN-EYED AND OTHER MONSTERS. 483
*' Miss 's my wife,"
*' Iiideccl ; well, you can't make me believe that she
ever made any appointment with any man she oughtn't
to make."
" I can't, can't I? read that then," he said, throw-
mir the letter on the table and scatterini>: tlie medicine.
The lady read' the letter and began to laugh, which en-
raged the husband still more.
" Where have you hidden this Dr. Stanton? I will
blow his brains out," he cried.
" No, you Avon't."
"You see if I don't."
" Well, blow then : I am Dr. Stanton, the author of
that letter," said the lady.
She had to sign her name, Kate S. Stanton, and
show him that the writing was the same as in the note,
before he would be convinced, and then he was the
most sheepish-looking man in New York The story
got out, and he was the butt of every actor in the
city. They refused to believe that he " walked
home." They condoled with him on account of his
ill health, which forced him to stop acting. They
recommended him to consult a doctor, especially a
lady doctor, Kate Stanton, for example. Altogether
he was so " roasted " that he will have to have more
than a mere letter in future to make him thirst for
vengeance.
" Hang, these women doctors ! " is all you can get
him to say; " if they must be doctors, why can't
they sign their full name, and not make trouble be-
tween man and wife?"
CHAP TEE XXXV.
JOHN WILKES liOOTlI, PRESIDENT LINCOLN'S ASSASSIN.
All interview with .'in old stager was pul)lishecl a few
months aj^o in tlie New York Dramatic Neios, which
furnishes some new ideas about John Wilkes Booth,
brother of the fllustrious Edwin, and the terrible crime
with which he shook a nation to its centre. John
"Wilkes Booth, it will be remembered, was the man
who shot and killed President Lincoln, while the latter
was witnessing a performance of "Our American
Cousin," at Ford's Theatre, Washington, D. C, on the
night of April 14, 1805. Laura Kecne was on the
staire at the time. Wilkes Booth entered the Presi-
dent's box and shot him in the back of the head. He
then made his escape ])y leaping from the box to the
staire, and rumiinu: thence through the stage entrance
to the street, where he leaped on a horse in waiting for
him. As he sprang from the l)ox, his foot caught in
the American flag which was draped around the railing,
and he fell, spraining his ankle. Landing on the stage,
he jumped np, and waving a dagger over his head,
he shouted, " tiic semper tyrannic.'' He was subse-
quently shot by Sergeant Corbett, while attempting to
escape from a barn in which he had sought I'cfuge.
Said a veteran actor, referring back a score of
years, to Wilkes Booth's opening at Wallack's old
theatre, on Broadway, near Broome Street: "The
piece to open in was ' Kichard III.' Monday morn-
ing came for rehearsal with the star, and the company
(484)
JOHN WILKES BOOTH.
485
had all assembled awaiting him. Many were the
stories told of his wonderful gifts and eccentricities.
One old member of the company, who had played
with him through Georgia, prophesied he would make
JOHN WILKES BOOTH.
imy
a terrific hit. Said he : ' I am an old man at the
business and have seen and played with some of the
greatest tragedians the world has ever seen. I've
486 JOHN WILKES BOOTH.
phucd second to Macrcudy. I've divided the aj)pl;uiso
with Charles Kean. I've acted often with Forrest,
but in all my long years of professional exi)ericnce this
young man Wilkes Booth (I might call him a boy),
this boy is the first actor that ever (to use a })r()fes-
sibnal term) knocked me olf my i)ins, n[)set and com-
pletely left me without a word to say ! Yes, sir, an
old actor like me that you would sui)pose an earth-
quake could not move, was tongue-tied — unable to
speak his lines.' ' Perhaps you never knew them,'
said our saucy soubrette. The old man smiled, and
then glaring at her said : ' Not know Shakespeare ? ' He
turned from her with a contemptuous smile. ' Why,
then,' said Jim Collier, ' were you so much at sea if
you were so well up in the lines? ' ' Wait till you see
him yourself, then ask. I tell you, gentlemen, there
is more magnetism in Wilkes Booth's eye than in any
human bein£i:'s I ever saw.' I listened to the old
actor with pleasure, and set him down as an enthu-
siast— a not uncommon thing among some veterans
of the stage, although, as a rule they are apt to carp at
the present and deplore the downfall of the i)ast.
' What do you think? ' said Ed. Tilton to me. « You
know the young man's brother, Edwin, and })layed
with the father of the boys. So have I ; but don't
you think our friend exaggerates a bit?' * No, I do
not,' said I, ' for 1 know the genius that runs in the
blood of the Booth family, and have seen it crop up
at times in just such a manner as he describes. The
last engagement that the great Junius Brutus Booth
plavcd in San Francisco only a few weeks before his
death, I was cast for Parson Welldo in a " New Way
to Pay Old Debts." And when tSir Giles, hemmed in
on all sides, is unable to break the combination against
him, sees the parson approaching, the lion imnicdi-
JOHN WILKES BOOTH. 487
ately becomes a lamb. His look of heavenly sweet-
ness when I told him of the marriage of his daughter
was a study ; but when he learned she was wedded to
his bitterest enemy, only a Dore's pencil could depict
the diabolical malignity of the man. The marks of his
fingers I carried upon my throat for days after, and
when he shrieked in my ear with his hot breath, and
the foam dropping from his lip — " tell me, devil, are
they married? " I had but to reply " they are," but
was unable to do so. So you see I am prepared for
anything this wonderful young man may turn out
to be.'
"At that moment a commotion was heard at the
back of* the stage, and Baker's voice was heard to say :
' Oh ! not waiting long ; you are on time ! ' And
striding down the centre of the stage came the young
man himself who Avas destined to play such an unfor-
tunate part in the history of our country afterwards.
The stage being dark at his entrance, the foot and
border lights were suddenly turned up and revealed a
face and form not easily described or forgotten. You
have seen a high-mettled racer with his sleek skin and
eye of unusual brilliancy chafing under a restless im-
jDatience to be doing something. It is the only living
thing I could liken him to. After the usual introduc-
tions were over, with a sharp, jerky manner he com-
menced the rehearsal. I watched him closely and per-
ceived the encomiums passed upon him by the old actor
were not in the least exaggerated. Reading entirely
new to us, he gave ; business never thought of by the
oldest stager, he introduced ; a)id, when the rehearsal
was over, one and all admitted a great actor was
amongst us. Knowing his own powers, he was very
particular in telling those around him not to be af-
488 JOHN WILKES BOOTH.
frighted at niglit, as ho might (he siiid, with a smile)
throw a little more lire into the part than at rehearsal.
Lady Anne (Miss Gray) was gently admonished ;
liichtnond, who was Jim Collier, was blnntly told to
look ont in the combat scene. Jim, who was (and prob-
ably is now) something of an athlete, smiled a sickly
smile at the idea of anybody getting the best of him in
a combat scene, and in asottovoice said to Jim Ward,
' Keep your eye on me to-night.'
'*The evening arrived, the house was fair only, and
his reception was not as warm as his merits deserved.
The soliloquy over, then came the scenes M'ith King
Henrijy and breaking loose from all the old orthodox,
tie-wig business of the Richards since the days of
Garrick down to Joannes, he gave such a rendition of
the crook-back tyrant as was never seen before, and
pcrhai)s never will be again. Whether it was in the
gentle wooing of the Lady Anne, the hypocrisy of the
king, or the malignant joy at Buckingham\s capture
down to the light and death of the tyrant, originality
was stamped all over and through the performance.
It was a terrible picture, but it had a humerous side
one night. At the commencement of tiie combat,
when Richard, covered with ])lo()d and the dust of the
battle-liold, crosses swords with RicJimond, Collier
looked defiant and almost seemed to sav : * Now, Mr.
Wilkes Booth, you have been frightening everyl)ody
to-night, try it on me?' And at the lines where
liicliard says, 'A dreadful lay ; here's to decide it,'
the shower of blows came furious from Richard's
sword upon the devoted earl's head. Now was
Collier's turn, and bravely did he retiiiii thorn ; with
renewed strength Richard rained l)lows upon blows
80 fast that the athletic Jim began to wince — as much
JOHN WILKES BOOTH. 489
as to say, ' How long is this going to last? ' Nothing
daunted, Collier with both hands clenched his power-
ful weapon, but it was only a feather upon Booth's
sword. Jim was the first to show evidence of exhaus-
tion, and no wonder, nothing could withstand the
trip-hammer blows of that Richard. Watching for
his head's protection, he was too unmindful of his
heels, and before he was aware of it, the doughty Jim
for once was discomfited — beaten; and lay upon his
back in the orchestra, where the maddened Booth had
driven him.
" The fight over, the curtain descended, but Booth
could not rise. Many believed him dead, but no !
there was the hard breathing and the glazed, open eye.
Could it be possible this was the man who only a few
moments before nobody could withstand in his fury ;
now a limp mass of exhausted nature, his nerves all
unstrung, and whom a child might conquer?
*' Well, the piece, as may be imagined, was a suc-
cess— a positive and an unqualified success, so much
so that it was kept on the balance of the week. " The
Robbers " was called for rehearsal next, and as usual the
war (then in progress) was the sole topic of conver-
sation. The company was pretty evenly divided on
the question, a majority of them having played through-
out the South, and had the same sympathy that the mer-
chant had who saw his trade diverted through other
channels. Not a word of politics was ever heard from
Booth during the first week of his engagement,
although he was an attentive listener to the angry dis-
cussions pro and con., till one morning somebody (I
forget who) read aloud from a newspaper of the ar-
rest of Marshal George P. Kane in Baltimore, and his
incarceration in Fort McHenry by order of Stanton.
490 JOHN WILKES BOOTH.
One of tho company (now dead) who shall be name-
less, approved heartily bf the act, and denounced tho
entire city of Baltimore as ^a hot-bed of rebels, and
should be razed to the ijround. His opponent took
an entirely different view ot" the question, and thought
the levelling to the earth shoukl be done to one Edwin
Stanton by tho aid of a pistol shot. The unfortunate
Lincoln's name was never mentioned. At tho suff-
gestion of shooting Stanton, a voice, tremulous with
emotion, at tho back of the stage was heard to ex-
claim. ' Yes, sir, you are right ! ' It was Booth's.
^ I know George P. Kane well ; he is my friend, and the
man who could drag him from the bosom of his family
for no crime whatever, but a mere suspicion that he
ma]/ commit one some time, deserves a dog's death I '
*' It was not the matter of what he said, it was the
manner and general appearance of the speaker, that
awed us. It would remind you of Lucifer's defiance
at the council. He stood there the embodiment of
evil. But it was for a moment only, for in the next
breath with his sharp, ringing voice, he exclaimed,
' Go on with the rehearsal ! '
*' That day and its events passed from memories of
the majority of us, but I never could forget the scene ;
the statuesque figure of the 3'oung man uttering those
few words in the centre of the old stage of Wallack's
can never be forgotten. Some months after I was
awakened from a sound sleep and told tliat President
Lincoln had been shot. Half dazed I inquired when,
and where, and being told, asked who was the assas-
sin? Wilkes Booth is thought to be, but it is only a
supposition tliat ho is the guilty one. I felt it was but
too true, for I could see him in my mind's eye as upon
that day in the old theatre when ho would have under-
JOHN WILKES BOOTH. 491
taken any task, however bold. A few hours after
proved the rumor to be true. The last act of the
tragedy all are familiar with, and one day standing at
the grave outside of Baltimore where all that is mor-
tal of father and son lie, I could not stifle memories of
the past, and felt like dropping a tear of pity over the
sudden and early downfall of one so promising, that
had he lived might now be delighting nightly thousands
with his powerful acting."
CHAPTER XXXVT.
THE SUIMMEII VACATION.
The close of a theatrical season, which rarely exceeds
forty weeks, and which terminates in the month of June,
is always hailed by the prosperous actor as an occasion
when he can find enjoyment and rest in some cosy
spot ; or if he is in the ranks, and is ambitious to be
reckoned in the constellation of dramatic stars, he
looks forward to his summer vacation as a time in
which he will have opportunity to fix up his business
for the coming season ; or if he has not yet secured
a manager — probably needing one with money — he
can button-hole the financiers of the " Square," as
the meeting-place and mart of the theatrical fraternity
of the entire continent is termed. The stars are
becoming so numerous, and, indeed, so insignificant,
that even members of the variety profession with the
thinnest pretensions in the world to dramatic distinc-
tion, and there are few on the legitimate stage above
the ranks of utility, who have not aspirations of the
same bright and twinkling kind. The beginning of
every season finds a hundred or more new combina-
tions, with little talent and less money, starting out
on the road ; and one, two, or tlireo weeks brings
them back, either " on their baggage," or " on their
uppers," — that is, the railroad company carries them
home and holds the baggage lor their fares, or they
*' count the railroad ties," which is a metaphoi-ic way
of saying they walk home. Very few of the cheap
(iU2)
THE SUMMER VACATION.
493
variety artists of the present day are worthy of even
a mean phice in the " legit., " as they designate the
legitimate stage; and it may be said, too, that some
stars who have succeeded in reachino: the lei»:itimate
boards would scarcely be reckoned bright ornaments
among the gems of the variety stage. This, however,
is a subject beyond the purposes of this work, and so
I will not go further into it.
LA GRAND DUCHESS.
The actor and actress who have settled down to the
regular routine of general work are among the persons
who get most enjoyment for their money during their
summer vacation. Stars, male and female alike, who
have made money and reached a satisfactory round on
the ladder of fame, though they may not have cottages
by the seaside, or summer residences of anything
like a pretentious character, can also be counted
among the number who *' loaf and invite their
souls " in a profitable and pleasurable manner. Most
494 THE SUMMER VACATION.
of the niJile stars have nice little nooks by river, lake,
or seaside, in quiet, cool, and shady spots, Avhile the
tragediennes and comedieinies of prominence and for-
tune seem to prefer either handsome residences in New
York or other Eastern metropolis, or else a watering-
place cottage. Maggie Mitchell prefers Long Branch.
So docs Mary Anderson, who lives a very secluded life
at this gay resort. Most of her time is passed in play-
ing with her little step-sister on the lawn of their
pretty place. She rides on horseback agreat'deal, and
takes an occasional short cruise on her new yacht,
*' The Galatea," which she has named after the latest
role added to her repertoire. Minnie Palmer, about
the only real rival Lotta has got, summers at Long
Branch. Emma Al)bott goes to Capo Ann. Lester
"Wallack devotes himself and his vacation to makin^r
short trips in his steam yacht. John McCuilough
hasn't settled down auywhere yet. Last year he went
to England to work and win a London reputation ;
this year he is with Gen. Sheridan in the Yellowstone
Valley. Fred. Marsden likes to go fishing at Salmon
Lake. ]\IcKee Raukin has a stock farm at Bois Blanc,
Canada, where he spends his summers. Joiiii W.
Norton flics away to Coney I.slaud, Long Branch, and
a round of the Eastern watering-places, Mrs. Norton
always accompanying him. And so the category
mijzht be leuirthened out. But it is useless. Estab-
lished stars have estal)lished fortunes as well as repu-
tations only by dint of the hardest, and, 1 might add,
in many cases, least appreciated kind of work, and
they deserve the thousands of dollars they make every
year. Few of the great stars fall less than $50,000
for a forty weeks' season, and there are few whoso
share goes under $1,000 a week. Joe Emmet accumu-
lates money faster, probably, than any other man who
THE SUMMER VACATION. 495
pliijs to the same prices, and John McCullough and
Mary Anderson are among the reapers of the richest
harvests. Booth seldom phiys a season through, but
when he does he, of course, carries off the honors.
Actors and actresses, while generous as a class, save
their money, and very few are found loitering around New
York " broke," during the vacation months. Still there
are cases of poverty. I have known a former popular
Irish comedian, who belongs to a family of popular
and prosperous members of the profession, to walk
the streets of a Western town many a day without a
cent in his pockets and nothing to look up to at night
for shelter but the stars high and pitiless over his bald
head. Everybody has read about the English actor,
who, driven to distress, and standing at the door of
starvation, donned an old gray wig, and was found
singing and begging around Union Square. It was
only when a policeman in arresting him accidentally
pulled off his wig that the actor's identity and condi-
tion were known. The former was carefully concealed
and the latter cheerfully and liberally relieved. I was
at a banquet given by the press of St. Louis to Thomas
W. Keene, the tragedian, during his first starring sea-
son, when among the few guests who sat down to the
table, between Billy Crane and Stuart Robson, was a
short, stout, gray-headed, and long gray-bearded man,
whom nobody knew. The night was bitterly cold,
still the old fellow wore only a long, gi'ay linen duster
over«a thin, red woollen shirt, with a very queer pair of
pantaloons and rough brogans. His high, battered
and wide-brimmed hat rested under his chair as if he
was afraid some of the company would steal it. He
swept clean every dish set before him, emptied every
glass of wine, and with bent head, and knife and fork
in hand, was waiting anxiously for each course when it
490
THE SUMMER VACATION.
came. As soon as ho was noticed tlie question passed
around, ♦' Who is the old gray? " and fun was poked
at him ruthlessly ; but it rebounded lightly froni the
folds of his linen duster, and he heeded not the blows.
When the toasts went around the old man was asked
JOHN W. NORTON.
to respond to one, and got uj) and sjjoke charmingly
for half an hour or more, introducing thelMarscillaise,
both as a martial hymn, and as a song and dance.
Then he explained how the city editor of a local paper
had sent him to report the banquet ; how he came shiv-
ering to the marrow of his bones to the door of the
y?.
^^
Ki t
A>i
'.>#
MARY ANDERSON
THE SUMMER VACATION. 497
Club House — the most fashionable in the city — and
asked permission to go into the kitchen to warm him-
self previous to appearing at the banquet board, a per-
mission which was granted. The old man spoke so
eloquently in telling a pitiful story of his poverty, Pat
Short, treasurer of the Olympic, at the instigation, I
think, of Manager Norton of the Grand Opera House,
picked up a hat and took up a collection from the
ten newspaper men and ten actors present. The col-
lection netted $39.75, which was poured in the old
man's two hands, while his eyes were wet with tears.
Then he was freely plied with wine, and danced, sang,
and gave phrenological examinations for two hours,
when the crowd dispersed in the greatest good humor.
Stuart Robson told this story to a Boston Times man
who made a two-column article out of it that travelled
all over the country, and in which all the credit of the
charity with the figures greatly increased was appro-
priated unjustly, by Messrs. Robson & Crane. But
this is not what I started out about.
" While the actor seeks deep shadows under the far-
reaching arms of huge trees," writes the New York
Dramatic Times man, " or leisurely smokes his pipe
beneath heavy boughs, thick with scented buds and blos-
soms, some one is working out his programme for the
next season. This ' some one ' is often confounded
with the actor himself, or is taken for the parasite who
fosters and thrives on some indirect vein of the livino;
and active theatrical body. The sturdy man of busi-
ness, who by chance happens to pass the pavement
between Broadway and Fifth Avenue, on the south
side of Union Square, fancies that the crowd of well-
dressed and, as a rule, quiet men, are idle profes-
sionals, lounging away a warm day between gossip
and beer. He little knows that this is the theatrical
498 THE SUMMER VACATION.
exchange of the Wej^tern World, where bushiess h
carried on in the same honorable mode as at the
Stock Exchange, without the Bedlam noises, and that
the seeming drifters under the grateful shade of the
Morton House are as shrewd in lookins: at the run of
the theatrical market as any "Wall Street broker.
Every theatre or nomadic attraction throughout the
United States has, at some time during the day, a
* some one ' looking out for * dates ' and ' book-
ing ' memoranda for future contracts. Without any
aijreement to meet or transact business, the ' some
one ' appears with the June roses and makes it a point
to pass the Rialto between the hours of ten a. m. and
four p. M. The affairs of this exchanji^e are jriirantio
(when for instance one manager gi^cs bona Jide evi-
dence that he has cleared $40,000 in the past season),
and though it would be impossible to make an estimate
of the total amount, it is safe to say that millions are^
the result of these seemingly casual meetings.
*' A guide published last year gives a total of about
four thousand five hundred theatres, that kept open
their doors for an average of forty weeks. Taking
the poor attraction, with the star that fills the theatre
to overflowing, the average receipts would be about
$150 for each theatre, or $(575, 000 paid every night
for amusements throughout the United States. This
would make a total for one week, of $4,050,000, or,
for the entire season of'iorty weeks, $102,000,000, not
counting matinees. Taking, tiien, an industry that
brings in over $1(50,000,000 inroundnumbersduringthe
season, the neatly dressed men that are said to ' hang
around the Square ' are the men that control or pull
the wires and set the machinery in motion. Tiie fig'
urcs ai)ove are, after all, but a[)proximate, and neither
include matinees, which in themselves would count one
THE SUMMER VACATION. 499
million, nor does it include the circus world, which is
not represented on the Rialto.
*' On the other side of the ledger will be found
twenty-eight thousand actors drawing their salaries
from these receipts ; and about twelve thousand more,
consisting of carpenters, property-men, scene-shifters,
the employees of the front of the theatre, etc. Twenty
dollars a week each would make a fair average for the
entire forty thousand, and would aggregate a total of
$32,000,000 in salaries alone. Add to this the rent
of the four thousand live hundred diflerent theatres
and halls which, at a moderate calculation of say
$4,000 each, would make $18,000,000 for the year.
*' ThB season having closed, actors seek secluded
spots, revel in the enjoyment of fljumel shirts and
country life, enjoying a dolce far niente either by sea-
shore or in wooded glens, and are described as ' rest-
ing.' In the nooks many have charming households,
and under their roof-trees happiness reigns, without
much reference to ' shop.' The manager or agent,
however, as soon as one season ends, procures his
' booking ' book and starts for the Square. His plan
may be to play his attraction in the South. The end
of his route will then likely be New Orleans. After
having his date in that city, he will < fill up ' his time
going and coming back. If the attraction be good, he
fills his time by playing in larger cities for one week ;
if not, he makes one or two-night stands, Avhich, in-
terpreted, means that his company plays for one or two
nights in a city. Starting in September, he works his
way down by Philadelphia, Baltimore, Washington,
and then in the beaten route through Kichmond, Mem-
phis, Atlanta, etc. This route fixing shows the ex-
perienced manager ; for should he, for instance, have
ihe week commencing February 1st in New Orleans,
500 THE SUJDIER VACATION.
be would liavc a niiiht in Mobile, Alabama, before
reacbins: tbere. To a new man tbe Mobile manan^cr
migbt ofler Saturday, giving tbe company time to
reacb Now Orleans on Monday. If tbis be accepted,
it would sbow inex]:)eriencc in the route maker, as tbe
fat^bionable nigbt at Mobile is Friday, Saturday being
* niircfers' ' niixbt. Ho sbould so time it as to reach
Mobile on Friday, play that night to big business, have
his matinee, and do the best he could with Saturday
night. In other sections of the country he must know
when the workman's pay-day is. In the oil and mining
regions, for instance, the men are paid but every fort-
night. The attraction which reaches there soonest
after the pay-day faros the best.
"Another of the grave considerations is the question
of railroad fares. All but the big attractions must
take into serious consideration the general increase of
railroad rates to the profession. Some of the roads
have not joined in the pool, and still cater to theatrical
custom. The cities on these routes are likely to have
a rush of attractions this season, and, as aconso(|uence,
will before long yield i)Oor receipts. At any rate there
is a tendency, even among the best-paying companies,
to take short 'jumps ' this season (1882-3) and visit
cities that would have been passed over with contempt
a short time since. But the difference of travelling
expenses one or three hundred dollars in a day, with a
company of forty people, dragging extra baggage,
moans a big diHoronoc in profits.
" The man on the Square has to look out for all
these things, as well as the pi-inting of the company,
one of the most inq)ortant and expensive items of
a travelling conq)any, an item which will often make
him pass wakoftd ihiyn and sleepless nights. Those
contracts, of course, vary for the different organiza-
THE SUMMER VACATION. 501
tions. The big theatrical gun as Avell as the smallest,
either personally or through agents, keeps himself
posted of the aifairs of the Rial to. No matter as to
how heavy calibre the big gun may be, he may tell his
friend he don't visit the Square, but he does, or is
sure to let it be known that he lives at the Union
Square Hotel, or at some other hotel near by, where
his booking is done. Managers of provincial theatres,
eairer to fill the time for their houses, travel eastward
to the Mecca of theatredom, or have their booking
done by local agents or firms engaged in this city in
that specialty — the commission for an attraction
being from $5 to $7. One firm of this kind in Union
Square do the booking for more than fifty theatres,
while another and larger one in Twenty-third Street
controls entire circuits, and furnishes attractions for
several hundred theatres. The manager having laid the
foundation of his plan, takes the summer to complete
it, chansino; a town here, or a date there, to make his
route as complete as possible, and as convenient to
travel over, so as to reach a town and have his com-
pany rest before appearing.
CHAPTER XXXVII.
FUN AMONG THE ELKS.
The benevolent and protective order of Elks is a
mystic organization whose membership is made up al-
most entirely of theatrical people, newspaper men,
and people who have some claim or other on the dra-
matic profession. It is a nol)le institution, having for
its foundation those grand and beautiful principles —
friendship, charity, and justice. Every prominent
actor in the country is found on its rolls, and the good
work it accomplishes i'rom one year to another is
extensive, and worthv the widest recognition. The
only thing I have to tind fault with is its initiation bus-
iness. Being a jolly, fuu-loviiig set, every candidate
is put through in the liveliest kind of style. I had a
friend, a low comedian named Jughandle, who got me
to be an Elk, and I tlunk they put u[) an unusually inter-
esting bill for mv initiation. In fact, I don't think it
was a genuine Elk initiation at all, but it was awful
funny for those who witnessed, and not a bit pleasant
for me.
It was Sunday afternoon when I was introduced to
the mysteries ofthis Order. The first person I met in
the ante-chamber of the lodge room was an otHcer
called Ihe Outer Spyglass. He ordered two strange
Elks to lead me away to .-inollier room where I was
Itlindfolded, and a long gown was thrown over me. A
lai-ge red box, coffin-shaped, with hinges in the middle
of lln^back, and a rf)und hole in the middle of the split
(.002)
FUN AMONG THE ELKS. 503
lid, SO that by opening the box, adjusting a man's
neck to the place intended for it, and then closing the
box again, the contrivance became the ghastliest sort
of a pillory. There were arm openings in the sides of
the coiBn and the lower portion which had been sawed
short was not boarded up, so that the legs might be as
free as possible under the circumstances, in walking.
Into a wooden overcoat of this kind I was hurriedly
thrust, with my head protruding through the hole in
the lid. The garment had been built for a man with a
longer and thinner neck than mine, and its proportions
were so entirely out of keeping with my physique,
that while I was choking, and my spinal column
threatened to crack any minute, my arms and legs
were suffering the severest torture. It was certainly
a comfort to know that dead people do not as a gen-
eral thing wear their ligneous ulsters in this style.
When I had the overcoat on, the attendants tied -a
piece of rope around my neck, a three-pound ^^I'^^yer-
book was placed in my right hand, and a euchre deck
of cards in my left. Being ready for the sacrifice, one
of the Elks was delegated to introduce me to the
Order. He took hold of the rope that hung from my
neck and hauled me up to the door at which the Grand
Microscope stands guard.
"The candidate is ready," said the outer Spy-
Glass.
" Let him enter ! " was the Microscope's command.
Trembling and helpless, I stood at last, a picture of
the utmost ridiculousness and misery, in the presence
of the High, Mighty and Magnificent Muck-a-Muck of
the Order.
"Quivering candidate!" the Muck-a-Muck ex-
claimed. "The Elks give you greeting. Every person
here assembled stretches out his right hand to you, and
504
FUN AMONG THE ELKS.
the champion Indian-Chib Swinger will now give you,
in one solid chunk, the congratulations of this entire
gathering for tiie success that promises to attend your
A CANUIDATK IN UliOALIA.
attempt to enter our Order. Cluh-Swinger, congratu-
late ! "
The Club-Swiuicer did so. It was the most startling
congratulation I was ever the recij)ient of. If a train of
I^UN AMONG THE ELKS. 505
cars travellino; at the rate of 100 miles an hour had run
into nie I could not have been more surprised. A blow
that Avould have made a pile driver or a quartz hammer
feel that it had no more force than the hind leg of a
house-fly was pljmted on the cofiin lid right over the
first button of my vest, and for three minutes I sped
through space. When I landed on my back I felt as if
I had run against another such blow speeding in an
opposite direction to the first. Every bone in my body
was jarred to my finger tips and toe-nails, and the
wrench my neck got in the sudden stopjDage gave me
the impression that my spine had been all at once
lengthened out sixteen feet and was still growing.
"Potential Pill-Prescribcr ! " the Hiijh Muck-a-
Muck commanded, " examine the candidate's condition
and immediately report upon the same ! How has he
stood the congratulation? "
The Master Physician felt my pulse, muttered to him-
self " 14,— 48,— 96,— 135," and answered "He has
stood it well, your Majesty."
" Then let him thrice make the circuit of the Peculiar
Circle ! " was the next command.
Several Elks helped me to my feet, and after gather-
ing up the scattered euchre deck and restoring it and
the prayer-book to my outstretched hands, the first
attendant seized the rope still dangling from my neck,
and led me on a rapid trot around the lodge room.
Wherever 1 passed heavy blows were rained upon my
coffin covering, and I imagined I heard several half-
suppressed laughs among my tormentors. I was begin-
ning to get mad and had about made up my mind to
throw ofl'the wooden yoke I was carrying around, tear
the bandage from my eyes, and sail in and punch the
heads of half-a-dozen Elks, when I was pounced upon,
dragged to the floor and roughly relieved of the coffin.
506 FUN AMONG THE KLKS.
I felt better after this und calmly awaited the next
move.
*' Bring the candidate })efore the throne," was the
next command of the High Muck-a-^Iuck.
With the assistance of a few Elks I succeeded in
reaching a spot where we stopped, and which, I suppose,
was rijrht in the midst of the radiance that hovers near-
est the presiding officer's throne. It is needless to say
that I felt very badly, and I must have looked frightful,
especially wdien, as happened just then, somebody
clapped a demolished stove-pipe hat on my head to add
to my already ridiculous aspect. I had hopes, how-
ever, that the end was near ; but I was sadly mistaken.
" Now, tremlding neophyte," said the High Muck-a-
Muck, in very impressive tones, " the most important
part of our ceremony still remains. Hitherto you have
had all the fun ; from this time on the fun will be on the
side of the assembled P^lks. Let the Grand Microscoi)e
search the candidate. See that he has no life-preserver
under his vest, or prc-Kaphielite panel of sole leather
concealed in that portion of his pantaloons to which
the hind straps of his susi)enders are fastened."
" He is entirely defenceless, your Majesty," reported
the Grand Microscope, after having made the necessary
examination.
" Then let him learn the three motions through which
every Prophet passes liefore attaining to the grand
secrets of our Order. Let him tost the swiftness of
the Descent, the roughness of the Path of Progress, and
the suddenness of the Upward flight to glory, and the
possession of the everlasting talisman. When this has
been done, if tlic candidate still lives, prepare, my
mystic l)retiircn, to welcome him into your circle."
My attendants now dealt with me very kindly. I
hardly knew what to think of the easy, almost respect-
FUN AMONG THE ELKS. 507
ful, manner in which they took me by the arm as we
walked along. Not a word was said. Silence intense
as that which wields a spell over an audience while some
daring act is in progress on the flying trapeze, seemed
to surround me. As we walked I felt that there was
the slightest bit of a rise — a gradual going upward —
to my path. , I paid little attention to this, however,
because I was receiving unusually kind treatment at the
time. I had just made up my mind that I had passed
all the perilous places along the road, and was about to
mutter to myself a mixture of thanks and self-gratula-
tions for the security and comparative blissfulness of
my condition, when, with surprising suddenness, my
attendants caught me by the arms and legs, gave me a
gentle waft forward, and then, reversing the motion,
clapped me upon a rough plank at a very steep incline,
down which I shot like lightning, regardless of the
splinters that ran up into the tenderest portions of my
pantaloons, and occasionally went on short and sharp
expeditions into the neighborhood of my backbone.
Down ! Down I ! Down ! ! ! I slid, until I thought I had
started from the top end of Jacob's ladder, away up
beyond the furtherest space through which the tiniest
stars twinkle, and was on a rapid and important journey
to the centre of the earth. I kept on thinking this way
until, for a moment, there was a cessation of the splinter
annoyance upon that portion of my anatomy on which
I usually do my sleighing. I felt myself falling, and
then I felt myself stop. The force of gravitation was
never before so fully and satisfactorily impressed upon
me. I got so heavy when I had no further to go that
I nearly crushed my life out with my own weight, and
the sitting down was done with such alacrity that a
pile-driver couldn't have sent the splinters that clung
to my pantaloons further into my flesh. Add to this that
508
FUN AMONG THE ELKS.
the first thing I struck was not a spring mattress, or a
hii;h hair cushion, but a wheel-barrow, tilled with small
wooden cones, with sharp edges and cruel points. The
shock caused me to send up such a howl that I imagined
1 could see the hair of every Elk in the land standing on
end. A well-defined laugh answered the howl, and
before I could think of the front end of the prayers for
the dead, I heard the High Muck-a-Muck's voice ring
out : —
♦' Wing him away," he commanded, " on Eincycle,
the one-wheeled horse of the Hereafter."
They wung me away at once. I discovered that the
one-wheeled horse designated by the High iVIuck-a-
Muck when he made use of the half
German and half Latin word in his
command was a very modern wheel-
barrow. The road over which the
winging was done was, to say the
least, an unpleasant one. There
was an obstruction of some kind
every six inches — hills and hollows
without number — and, even if I had
not already been i)hysically shattered
by the exciting episodes of the first
part of the initiation, the merciless
jolting I got and the shar[)-pointed
cones I kei)t dancing up and down
on were sufficient torture to make
MUCK-A-MUCK. ^^^^ Yon^r for some quiet, peaceful spot
on which I might stretch out my wearied limbs and close
my eyes forever. I don't know how far I was carried over
this rough road, which terminated in a tank ol' chilly
water, into which I was unceremoniously dnniix'd,
while a shout went up from the assembled brotherhood
that indicated that they were highly delighted over my
FUN AMONG THE ELKS. 509
IDrospects of being drowned. After sinking three
times without any apparent effort having been made to
rescue me, I evinced a disposition to remain under
water. I was beginning to fill up rapidly, and celes-
tial visions were already flitting before me, when
something sharp ran through my shoulder and I felt
myself lifted to the water's surface.
" See that he remains blindfolded," shouted the
High Muck-a-^Iuck, and, while I still dangled from an
iron hook on the end of a stout pole, the dripping
handkerchief was tightened across my eyes.
"Put him through the Purgation rite," was the
next order, in accordance with which I was thrown,
face forward, upon a barrel, and one Elk taking me by
the heels while another held my head, I was rolled
and rolled until I had passed through one of the most
violent spells of sea-sickness anybody ever experi-
enced.
"Will the candidate recover?" asked the High
Muck-a-Muck.
" I have some hopes, your Majesty," answered the
Potential Pill-Prescribcr.
" Then bring in the Krupp gun," the Muck-a-Muck
commanded, " and while he still has life, let the can-
didate climb the cloud-heights around which many a
Prophet has soared."
I was trembling with cold up to the time the High
Muck-a-Muck mentioned the Krupp gun ; just then a
chill of fear ran down my back and my knees knocked
together so violently that I could hear the bones rattle.
The great cannon was rolled in and placed in position
near where I stood.
" Spread the merciful net three hundred yards
away," ordered the High Muck-a-Muck, " and sprinkle
the carpet in its centre with fourteen papers of tacks.
510 FUN AMONG THE ELKS.
Place the sheet-iron bumper ten yards beyond, to pre-
vent the candidate from beini' shot out ot" l)()unds.
Charge the cannon with thirty pounds of powder ; load
her up and let her fly ! "
They poured the thirty pounds of powder into the
huge mouth of the cannon, rammed down an iron or
steel plate, and then to my horror, grabbed me and
pu:?hed me into the piece of ordnance until my feet
rested on the metallic plate and my head barely pro-
truded from the top of the war-engine. Buckets of
chopped ice were poured in to fill up the vacant space,
and before the congealed wadding was all in, my toes
and fingers were completely frost-bitten. When every-
thing: seemed to be in readiness the Hij^h Muck-a-Muck
said : —
" The candidate has no hat on. Fish his plug out
of the lake, put an air-cushion, inside and then deco-
rate his head with it."
The "air-cushion" referred to was only a l)lown
bladder. It was placed in the top of my bruised and
battered wet hat, which was tightly and gracefully
placed upon my head.
"Is he ready?" shouted the High Muck-a-Muck.
" He is," was the Grand Microscope's answer.
" Then, let her go ! "
Fiz ! boom ! ! bang ! 1 I I knew the match was at
the fuse ; felt tiie whole busiiu's.s give way ; heard the
scream of the powder leaving the cannon at the same
moment as myself; saw the flash of Are as it burned
my eyebrows, moustache and the ends of my hair ; had
my breath swept away by the swiftness of my flight,
and while all these experiences were mingled in one
instantaneous jumble in my mind, whack went my
head against the sheet-iron bumper; bang 1 went the
explosive bladder in my hat, and, hurled back by the
FUN AMONG THE ELKS. 511
recoil, I fell right in the middle of the carpet space in
the merciful net, just back in the midst of the fourteen
papers of tacks that had been sprinkled there for my
benefit. I howled and jumped into the air, but every
time I jumped I fell back again and got a fresh invoice
of tacks in my flesh. Although there seemed to be
nothing particularly mirth-provoking in my situation,
the assembled Elks laughed heartily until I was stuck
as full of carpet tacks as a boiled ham is of cloves at a
pastry-cook's ball. Then they took me out of the
net, picked the tacks out of my back, and stood me
up, weak and exhausted, according to instructions, in
front of the throne.
*< The candidate," said the High Muck-a-Muck,
"has given satisfactory evidence of his fortitude and
endurance, and we are now prepared to receive him
forever into our number as an Elk. Let him take
the oath and kiss the branching antlers."
The oath was administered and I saluted the antlers
with my lips as fervently as I could under the circum-
stances. *
" Now remove the blindfold."
The handkerchief was removed from my eyes and I
saw — nothing. But I was an Elk.
I have seen many candidates initiated into this Order
since that time, but I have never seen any such pro-
ceeding as that here described, which leads me to in-
fer that some friends, and among them Jughandle, put
up a job on me and used me a little roughly, for the
sake of the sport it afforded them.
(512)
THE CTRrus WORLD.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
THE CIRCUS IS HERE.
A "disengaged canvasman " who was probably
driven to poetry for lack of other work wrote the fol-
lowing spring verses which were published in the New
York Clipper: —
In the spring the gorgeous banners float upon the circus tent,
And the active agents' fancies on " advances " all are bent.
In the spring the "bounding brothers " try some new and daring
games,
While the opposition " fakirs " call each other awful names.
In the spring the "sideshow-blowers," with their never-failing
tongues,
Pump out paralyzing language from their copper-fastened lungs.
In the spring the fair Circassian, with her every hair on end,
Leaves again her native Brooklyn, on the road her steps to wend.
In the spring ye " candy-butcher " shows confections old and
tough,
While the gentle lemonadist juggles with the same old stuff.
In the spring ye merry jester learns conundrums bright and new
(Dug up by the Christy Minstrels in the year of '62).
In the spring — and in the ring — the riders whirl around in style,
While the air is filled with romance (and rheumatics — I should
smile) !
In the spring — oh, well, I'll cheesf it, for I haven't got a cent,
And I think I hear the landlord, coming up to ask for rent !
There is more foct than poetry in these lines. The
spring brings gaily colored posters, like flowers of
many hues, to decorate the dead walls and fences ; and
litters the streets witli small hand-bills in Avhich the
'^ ' (518)
514 THE ClltCUS IS IlEUE.
wonders of the evening show are dwelt upon in :i style
of rhetoric that wonld nnd^e George Francis Train
sick. The name of the show is too long to print in
this book, even if I began at the title-page and wrote
small and close through every page down to the lower
right-hand corner of the back cover. Since they got
to consolidating shows, they have by some elastic
process begun to lengthen out the name, and at every
reappearance of a circus in a town the bill-poster must
add a few yards to the length of his fence to get the
improved and newly elongated name on it, and to make
a few square yards of additional space for the fresh
stock of impossible pictures the artist has chopped
out for the show. I like to regard the ridiculous art
and the brazen exaggeration of these posters. What
consummate impertinence prompts the managers of
these concerns to put a circus on paper that could
never have an existence under the sun is somethinjr
that it is impossible to understand. They ask and they
must have the patronage of the public they insult by
spreading such absurdities upon the wall as the picture
of ouQ horse lying on his back with his legs up and
another horse standing above him, their eight hoofs
meeting ; or of a man being blown from the mouth of
a cannon, or indeed an}'^ of the other ridiculous and
gaudy illustrations which are designed to catch the eye
at a distance of one hundred yards and to hold the at-
tention long enough to make the investigator of bill-
board literature part with a half dollar. But it seems
that circus managers and circus agents have no other
idea of advertising than to make the ink and the colors
on their posters say as much as the imagination can sug-
gest, and to make people pay for the privilege of find-
ing out that they have been bamboozled. It seems to
be remunerative thoni^h, for a circus can create irreater
THE CIRCUS IS HERE. 515
commotion in a town than a big fire, and from the mo-
ment it pitches its tents — a -city of canvas, they usually
call it — until the glory of the visit fades, thousands
are interested in it and the opening of its doors always
finds a throng with tickets in hand anxious to set in-
side as early as possible, to have a thorough look at
the menagerie and in the other way, by putting in full
time to get their money's worth out of the show.
The circus always comes to town with a flourish.
There is a grand street parade. The dozen elephants
and sixteen camels follow the band wagon, and then
comes the cavalcade, gentlemen in court costumes and
ladies in rich trailing robes with jaunty hat of gay
ribbons and feathers flying in the breeze. The lion
tamer is in the cage with the feeble animals that he
keeps stirring up with his whip ; the clown in his lit-
tle chariot with his trick mule, aflbrds amusement to
the children along the line ; then the snake charmer
rolls by fondling the slimy reptiles, and after that
comes a procession of red wagons with trampish
drivers in red coats, and perhaps there are some gro-
tesque figures on top of the wagons. At the rear some
enterprising clothier has an advertising vehicle. That
is about all there is to it, if we add the Undine wao-on
that has a place sometimes at the head and sometimes
in the middle of this "gorgeous street pageant."
Still it goes from one end of town to the other, scarinir
horses and creating the greatest excitement among the
circus-going public. The $10,000 beauty "gag"
that worked so successfully last season when Adam
Forepaugh claimed to have paid that amount to Miss
Louise Montague, a variety actress, for merely appear-
ing in the street parade, riding on a howdah high
upon the back of his largest elephant and for partici-
pating in the grand entree at the opening of each
516 THE CIRCUS IS HERE.
performance. Barniim tried to make some free adver-
tising for himself this season by annoniicing that ho
would pay $10,000 to the handsomest man and
$20,000 to the handsomest lady, but he was shrewd
enouirh to see that the scheme Avould not brinir him
back $30,000, so he allowed it to fall through.
This subject of costly ])eauties recalls an incident
that took place in a Western theatre. At the house in
question an actress was performing who, in times gone
by, figured as the faithless sweetheart of an eminent
sport in that very city. That gentleman hearing that
his light of love was about to appear in a new line vis-
ited the theatre to see for himself whether or not it was
really she. The memory of past troubles caused him
to drink rather more than was good for him, and when
he took his seat in the parquette near the stage, he was
in a great measure incapacitated from acting with cool-
ness and iudgmcnt. He believed be recognized the
woman as the one who had caused him so much sorrow
and trouble. His feelings got the better of him, and
standing up in his seat he exclaimed : —
"You cost nie $25,000, you cost me $25,000, and
I'll cut your d — d heart out ! "
This outcry brougiit one of the members of the com-
pany to her assistance, armed with a property revolver,
and the air was full of war and rumors of war until
the police arrived. The $2">,000 victim was led out
and the play went on.
While the parade is on its way back to the circus
lot, I will tell the reader of an exciting parade that was
witnessed at Runcorn, England, last summer: Messrs.
Sanger & Son, who were exhil)iting in the town, had
announced a procession in coimection witii their great
hippodrome, and from twelve to one o'clock, altiiough
rain was falling very heavily, large crowds of people
THE CIRCUS IS HERE.
517
began to assemble in the Market Square, Bridge Street
and the wide space in front of the Town Hall and the
public offices. To one very large car forty horses had
been harnessed, to be driven through the town by one
TWENTY-FIVE THOUSAND DOLLAR BEAUTY.
man. This was drawn up waiting for the start, almost
opposite the Guardian office, while higher up Bridge
Street stood twelve ponies harnessed to a smaller car.
Near the Town Hall stood two other cars, and as one
518 THE CIRCUS IS HERE,
o'clock ;ipproachcd and the rain showed signs of abat-
ing, the procession was expected very shortly to form
and make the circuit of the town. Suddenly, anions
the horses standing near to the shop of Messrs. Iland-
ley & Co., there was a great commotion, and loud
shouts were heard to " Clear the road." The twelve
ponies had taken fright and were rushing down Bridge
Street towards the fountain. There was no one in
charge, and it was evident that some very serious acci-
dent would result from the panic which seemed to have
seized the horses. To make matters worse, the forty
horses became frightened, and, with the ponderous car
behind them, joined the ponies in their gallop. Many
persons sought refuge in the shops and doorways.
Those who were not fortunate enough to reach this
shelter were trampled upon and crushed, and the scene
was one of the wildest excitement. At one moment it
seemed as though the great colossal car wouhl be over-
turned among the struggling crowd, while the plate-
glass windows in the shops on the south side of the street
were within an inch of being sma,shcd. The scene was
not of long duration, but it lasted Ions: euoufjh to in-
jure at least ten people and imperil the safety of hun-
dreds more. When nearing the commissioners' offices,
several constables who were in the court-room, liear-
ing the noise outside, rushed into the street, and were
just in time to seize the ponies by the heads and turn
them down Mersey Street before they reached the
Royal Hotel. TIh^ horses, through the courageous
exertions of the police and some of Messrs. Sanger &
Son's diivers, wero brought to a standstill opposite the
Royal Hotel.
Many people affect to l)c Indifferent to the attrac-
tions of the circus, sayiug that they saw one when they
were young and as all circuses are the same there is
THE CIRCUS IS HERE. 519
no use in going to see canotlier. These people are
about right. There has been nothing new in the gen-
uine features of the circus for the past fifty years.
There are a few deceptive tricks that have been seen
only of late years but they are mere ephemeral illu-
sions, easy of explanation, and time will take them out
of the circus ring as it took the lion-taming act. I
can remember the time when the cao-e of lions was
dragged into the middle of the arena and amid the
greatest excitement the alleged lion-tamer went in
among the animals, beat them about, lay down upon
the back of one and put his head between the wide-
open jaws of another. Now that performance is lost
sight of among the multitude of curiosities in the
menageries. The great unchangeal)le features of a
show, the gymnastic, acrobatic and equestrian work, are
the same now that it was a half century ago. Still
with all its want of novelty it is attractive, as are all
shows, and grown people have been known to share
the enthusiasm of the little ones in playing circus after
witnessing a performance and while the sawdust fever
was still on them. A short, funny sketch that appeared
in the Louisville Courier- Jour rial will do to illustrate
the hold the circus has upon the average boy's heart.
The writer says : —
"After the circus had opened to the public yesterday
a gray-haired colored brother, who held the hand of a
boy of fourteen as both stood gazing at the tent,
shook his head in a solemn manner, and observed : —
" ' It's no use to cry 'bout it, sonny, kase we am
not gwine in dar no how.'
" ' But I want ter,' whined the boy.
" ' In course you does. All chill'en of your aige
run to evil an' wickedness, an' dey mus' be sot down
on by dose wid experience.'
520
THE CIRCUS IS HERE.
ADAM I'OUKrAUOH.
" " You used to go, ' urged the boy.
♦' ' Siirtiu I did, but what w:is do result? I had sich
ft load oil my conscioiico dat I couldu't sleep niglits.
THE CIRCUS IS HERE. 621
I cum powerful nigh bein' a lost man, an' in dem days
de price of admishun was only a quarter, too.'
*' * Can't we both git in for fifty cents? '
" < I 'speck we might, but to-morrer you'd be bilin'
ober wid wickedness an' I'd be a backslipper from de
church. Hush up, now, kase I hain't got but thirty
cents, and dar am no show fur crawlin' under de
canvas.'
"The boy still continued to cry, and the old man
pulled him behind a wagon, and continued :
*' 'Henry Clay Scott, which had you rather do —
go inter de circus an' den take de awfullest lickin' a
boy eber got, or have a glass of dat red lemonade an'
go to Heaben when you die? Befo' you decide let me
explain dat I mean a lickin' which will take ebery inch
of de hide oif, an' I also mean one of dem big glasses
of lemonade. In addishun, I would obsarve dat a
circus am gwine on in Heaben all de time, an' de price
of admisshun am simply nominal. Now, sah, what
do you say ? '
" The boy took the lemonade, but he drank it with
tears in his eyes."
A man living near Bloomington, Illinois, in 1870,
sold his stove to a neighbor to obtain funds to take
his family to a circus that had pitched its tents near
the city. When he got back he said he was not a bit
sorry, that " he'd seen the clown, an' the gals a ridin'j
an' the fellows doin' flip-flaps, an' waz so perfectly
satisfied that ef another suck-cus came alono; next
year, an' he had a stove, he'd go to see it on the same
terms ag'in."
CHAPTER XXXIX.
UNDER THE CANVAS.
The one great wish of the small ])oy's heart, as he
stands at a respectful distance from the ticket wagon
watching the huge canvas rise and siniv — apparently
with as much ease as the flag flies from the top of the
centre-pole — is to get inside the tent before the band
begins to play. He may not have a cent to pay the
admission, but he has Micawbcrish hopes that far
surpass any money value that might bo placed upon a
small boy, that something will turn up to gain him
admission to the show. He knows that if the canvas-
men jjive him a ""ood chance he can crawl in under the
cloth and make his way up through the seats. He
has been told that if he is caught at su(;h a trick the
showmen will drag him to the dressing-tent and fill
his hair full of powdered sawdust. The canvas-men
are, however, viglilant ; besides that, they are lazy
and do not care to move around, so the small boy
must be content to throw handsprings in the sawdust-
sprinkled lot, and keep on hoping until the show is
out. In this respect the minute ])oy does not betray
the same shrewdness credited to a Baltimore girl.
She was on a visit to her brother's ranche near Austin,
Texas, when a small circus came along. It is con-
sidered the acme of honesty to beat the circus in
that region — in fact, paying is heartily deprecated.
Although only a month in the place, the Baltimore
belle was thoroughly imbued with the cowboy spirit,
(r)22)
UNDER THE CANVAS.
523
In as far as "beating" the circus was concerned, and
when the show pitched its tents she made up her mind
as to what she was going to do. At night, when
*« beating' the circus.
the show was under headway, she calmly approached
the circus tent on stilts, and viewed the first half
524 tINDER THE CANVAS.
of the performance through the opening between the
canvas and the roof. One of the fiujhters of the show
detecting somctliing wrong, crept around with a club
to ''smash" the intruder, but received a kick in the
eye from the fair stilt performer, and was so taken
aback that the cowboys had time to rally to her sup-
port and raid the show while she at a safe distance
applauded the conquering herders. The troupe left
town that night in a sadly damaged condition.
Until late years circuses generally gave a balloon
ascension before the afternoon i)erf()rmance took
place, and sometimes a slack-wire performance was
added. The latter free exhibition dropped out of sight
a short time ago, and since 187G there have been few
circus balloon ascensions ; they have been abandoned
on account of the danger and frequency of acci-
dents. Everybody remembers the fate of Donaldson
and Greenwood, the former an teronaut in the employ
of Bamiim at the time, the latter, a Chicago newspaper
reporter. They left Chicago July 15, 1875, in a tat-
tered old balloon. It was a remarkal)ly fine day, and
not the remotest shadow of danger fell across the sun-
shine. The balloon was carried out over the lake, dis-
appeared from view, and the fate of the missing men
was not known until a portion of the tattered balloon
and the body of Greenwood, with his note-book and
other articles that helped to identify him, were found
on the ]\Iichii2;an shore of the great lake. The balloon
had been wrecked and both men had perished in the
waves. Donaldson's body was never recovered. An
imaginary sketch of this fatal tri^) was written by John
A. Wise, the jcronaut, who himself perished in Lake
Michigan while attemi)ting to complete a night ascen-
sion. He and George Burr started from St. Louis at
dusk, and as the terial ship was vanishing into the
UNDER THE CANVAS.
525
clouds it was seen for the last time. For weeks noth-
iiiof was heard of the missins; men or the balloon.
They were thought to be lost in the Michigan prairies.
At last Burr's body was found on the east shore of
Lake Michiijan. Wise's remains were never recov-
ered.
A lady balloonist met with a terrible death at
WASHINGTON H. DONALDSON.
Cuantla, Mexico, some time ago. A great crowd as-
sembled to witness the balloon ascension of Senorita
Catalina Georgio, a beautiful girl only seventeen years
old. There was no car attached to the balloon, only
the trapeze on which the girl performed. The balloon
526
UNDER THE CANVAS.
shot up amid the deafening cheers of the crowd which
was present. Catalina, meanwhile, was seen clinging
CATALFNA GKORGIO S FllKJUTFUL DEATH.
to the trapeze ;iii<l performing daring feats of agility.
When tlid halloon was three-quarters of a mile high it
UNDER THE CANVAS. 527
suddenly exploded and fell to the ground with the un-
fortunate girl. Her dead body was found horribly
crushed and mangled beside the wrecked balloon.
The remains were tenderly cared for by the natives.
A frightful balloon accident occurred lately at Cour-
bevoie, near Paris. A large crowd had assembled to
witness the novel and perilous ascent of a gymnast
called August Navarre, who had volunteered to per-
form a number of athletic feats on a trapeze suspended
from a Montgolfier balloon named the Vidouvillaise.
Rejecting the advice of bystanders, Navarre refused
to allow himself to be tied to the trapeze. There was
no car attached to the balloon. At about five o'clock the
Vidouvillaise was let loose from its moorings and rose
majestically in the air. Navarre, hanging on to the
trapeze, appeared quite confident, and repeatedly sa-
luted the spectators. When, however, the balloon
had reached a height of nearly one thousand yards
the crowd was horrified to see him suddenly let go the
bar and fall. The descent was watched in breathless
excitement. At last the body reached the ground,
striking with such force that it made a hole in the
earth two feet deep, and rebounded four yards. It
was cruslred and mano^led almost bevond recoj^nition.
Meanwhile the balloon, freed from its human ballast,
shot up with lightning speed, and soon disappeared
from view. Late in the evenino; it burst and fell at
Menilmontant, much to the consternation of the in-
habitants of that busy Parisian quarter.
The day after Donaldson's fatal ascension, Dave D.
Thomas, then press agent for Barnum, and filling the
same place still, made a successful ascension. Mr.
Thomas is familiar with ballooning, and often laments
that the days of serial ascensions as circus advertise-
ments are past.
52.S UNDER THE CANVAS.
While waiting for the pcrlbnnancc to begin let us
drop into the dressing-tent. It is divided in the mid-
dle by 11 strip of canvas about seven feet wide, and
this half space is again divided into dressing-rooms,
one for the men, the other for the women. The large
space is the green-room of the circus. It is not only
that, but it is the property-room. The performers are
preparing for the grand entree. Helmets arc lying
around loose, and wardrobes appear to be in a state of
great confusion. Cheap velvet gaily bespangled is
quite plentiful. It looks best at a distance. Quanti-
ties of white chalk are brought into use, each-man's
face being highly powdered, his eyebrows blackened,
etc.^ The dressing-room is small and there is appar-
ently much confusion while the performers are donning
their respective costumes. But each knows what his
duty is, and does it accordingly, without really inter-
fering with anyone else. On the other side is the
ladies' room ; into this we are not permitted to cast
our profane peepers, but we know from exterior
knowledge that paint and powder, short .dresses and
flesh tights are rapidly converting ordinary women
into equestrienne angels. Outside of the dressing-
rooms are the horses, ranged in regular order. At a
o-iven siirnal the riders appear, mount and enter the
rin<T. As they are dashing about in apparent reckless-
ness let us look more clearly at them. They all look
young and fresh, but there are old men in the party
who for twenty-five or thirty years have figured in the
sawdust ring. Chalk hides their wrinkles, dyestuffs
their gray hairs, and skull caps their baldness. Yon-
der ladv who sits her steed gracefully, and who looks
as blooming as a rose on a June morning, is not oidy
a mother, ))ut a grandmother. And there is George
who was engaged last winter to do " nothing, you
UNDER THE CANVAS. 529
know." He finds his duties embrace riding, leaping,
tumbling, object-holding, and occasionally in short
times drive a team on the road. There is one rider
who was formerly a manager himself. He had a big
fortune once, but a few bad seasons swamped it, and
he is now glad to take his place as a performer on
a moderate salary. Returning to the dressing-room
after the entree, we find the clown engaged in putting
the finishing touches to his make-up. We must look
closely at him to recognize him. He does not seem to
be the same fellow we met at the breakfast table, in
stylish clothes and a shirt-front ornamented with a
California diamond. He has given himself an im-
possible moustache with charcoal, and has painted
bright red spots on his cheeks. You think him a mere
boy as he springs into the ring, but he has been a
mere boy for many a long year, and his bones are get-
ting stifli' and his joints ache in sjDite of his assumed
agility. The "gags" that he repeats and the songs
that make you laugh are not funny to him, for he has
repeated them in precisely the same inflection for an
indefinite number of nights. He comes out to play
for the principal act of horsemanship. Meantime in the
dressing-room, if it is damp or chilly, the performers
are wrapping themselves in blankets or moving about
to keep warm. When the bareback rider returns from
the ring he usually disrobes, takes a bath and dons his
ordinary attire ; but the less important performers
must keep themselves in readiness to render any assis-
tance which they may be called upon to perform.
There is but little repose for the weary circus people
during a season. Frequently they stay but one day in
a place, and the next town is fifteen or twenty miles
distant. All the properties must be packed up, the
helmets and cheap velvet, the tights and the tunics
530 UNDER THE CANVAS.
imi.st be slowed iiway and tlie journey nuide 1)y nij^lit.
The following day brings a recurrence of the dangers
and toil of circus life.
A clown Avho was importuned by some young ladies
of Mill City, Iowa, as they passed the dressing-tent, to
let them in, said he'd do it for a kiss from each. There
were four in the party and they held a brief consulta-
tion when they came back and wanted to know if one
kiss wouldn't do.
" Yes, one each," said Mr. Merry man, who had his
paint on and looked anything but pretty.
Again they consulted, and at last agreed. They
were respectable young ladies and were slow to do
anythinir that miirht compromise tliem, still thev kissed
the clown, who lifted a flap of the tent and passed in
each as she paid the osculatory fee. The kisses did
his old heart good, and when he went into the ring so
fresh and htippy did he feel that he actually got olT a
new and good joke, which is an extraordinary thing for
a clown. The clown is pretty much the whole show to
the little folks, and there are many grown peojjle who
cherish fondly the childish admiration they had had for
the retailer of old jokes and singer of i)oor comic songs.
He talks and jumi)s around as lightly as if he were a
young man ; but often if the reader could be aroimd
when the chalk and the streaks of black and rod have
been washed off he would see that the light-hearted
lau"-h-provoker is an old man wriidvled and gray, and
that he is to be pardoned for not being able to say
anything funny that would be new at his time of life.
I like everything about a flown, his clothes, his comi-
cal hat, his ohl jokes, liis poor voice and his worse
sonics. He tries to amuse other people's children, and
therefore I am glad when I hear he has children of his
UNDER THE CANVAS. 531
own, as the following touching story told in verso has
something to say about : —
THE CLOWN'S BABY.
It was out on the western frontier —
The miner's, rugged and brown,
Were gathered around the posters ;
The circus had come to town 1
• Tlie great tent shone in the darlvuess,
LilvC a wonderful palace of light,
And rough men crowded the entrance —
Shows didn't come every night.
Not a woman's face among them!
Many a face that was bad,
And some that were only vacant,
And some that were very sad ;
And behind the canvas curtain,
In a corner ot the place, "~
The clown with chalk and vermilion,
Was " making up " his face.
A weary-looking woman.
With a smile that still was sweet,
Sewed on a little garment.
With a candle at her feet.
Pantaloons stood ready and waiting;
It was the time for the going on.
But the clown in vain searched wildly-
The " property baby " was gone !
He murmured, impatiently hunting,
"It's strange that I cannot find —
There! I've looked in every corner;
It must have been left behind."
The miners were stamping and shouting —
They were not patient men ;
The clown bent over the cradle —
"I must take you, little Ben! "
The mother started and s*hivered.
But trouble and want were near;
She lifted her baby gently,
"You'll be very cai-eful, dear? "
532 UNDER THE CANVAS.
" Careful ! You foolish darling — "
How tenderly it was said!
What a smile shone through the chalk and paint -
" I love each hair of his head! "
The noise rose into an uproar,
Misrule for the time was Ivins;
The clown, with a foolish chuckle,
Bolted into the ring.
But as with a squeak and a flourish,
The liddles closed their tune,
"You hold him as if he was made of glass! "
Said the clown to Pantaloon.
The jovial follow nodded :
" I've a couple myself," he said;
" I know how to handle 'em, bless you I
Old fellow, go ahead I "
The fun grew fast and furious,
And not one of all the crowd
Had guessed the baby was alive,
When he suddenly laughed aloud.
Oh, that baby-laugh! It was echoed
From the benches with a ring.
And the roughest customer there sprung up
With'" Boys, it's a real thing! "
The ring was jammed in a minute,
Not a man that did not strive
For "A shot at holding the baby — "
The baby that was " alive! "
He was thronged by kneeling suitors
In the midst of the dusty ring.
And he held his court right royally —
The lair little baby-king —
Till one of the shouting courtiers,
A man with a bold, hard face,
The talk of miles of the country,
And the terror of the place,
liaised the little king on his sliouldcr,
And chuckled, " Look at that! "
As the baby fingers clutched his hair.
Then " Boys, hand round that hat! "
There never was such a hat-full
UNDER THE CANVAS. 533
Of silver, and gold, and notes ;
People are not always penniless
Because they don't wear coats.
And then, "Three cheers for the baby! "
I tell you those cheers were meant;
And the way in which they were given
Was enough to raise the tent.
And there was a sudden silence,
And a gruff old miner said :
«' Come boys, enough of this rumpus!
It's time it was put to bed."
So looking a little sheepish,
But with faces strangely bright, -
The audience, somewhat lingeringly,
Flocked out into the night.
And the bold-fdced leader chuckled,
" He wasn't a bit afraid !
He's as game as he is good-looking —
Boys, that was a show that paid ! "
The public at large has but a very vague idea of how
a circus is run, and the people, besides the managers
and regular employees, who make a living by it. ^hen
the tenting season is about to open, a class of people,
who in the winter hang about the saloons, variety
theatres and gambling hells of the large cities, start
for the circuses to bid for what are known as the
" privileges," which are, as a rule, understood to em-
brace not only the candy and lemonade-stands and the
side-shows, but all sorts of gamblmg devices by which
the unsuspecting countryman is fleeced out of his earn-
ings, or borrowings, as the case may be. Monte men,
thimble-riggers, sweat-cloth dealers, and all classes of
gamblers and thieves who have not yet risen to the
dignity of '<^ working" the watering-places and sum-
mer resorts, look upon the route of a circus as their
legitimate field of operation. The circus proprietor
who rents the lot upon which his tent or tents are
534 UNHER THE CANVAS.
pitched has the right to sul)lct such portions of the
ground as he does not use, for such i)uiposes as he
deems proper, and which Avill not make him personally
amenable to the laws for whatever crimes m:iy be com-
mitted there. It has been shown that in manv cases
the managers not only sell to gamblers the privilege of
locating on the ground and robbing the patrons of the
circus, ])ut also receive a share of the ill-gotten wealth.
"There are," said Mr. Coup, the circus owner, to
an interviewer, " lots of shows with bis: bank accounts
who have made their money by actually robbing their
patrons. They used to swindle on the seats, but th:it
is done away with now entirely, or nearly so. Of
course, I am not at liberty to mention mimes, but I
c(nild astonish you by desiijnating shows the manairers
of which have made the greater portion of their money
in this way. But a great trick which is being practised
is this : A man is sent ahead of the show who is not
known to have any connection whatever with it. In
fact, he denies that he has anything to do with it, and
yet he is really employed by the managers. This man
canvasses the town and finds some man who has a bi<x
bank account and who is G:ullible enou<::h to confide in
strangers. The agent makes his acquaintance, gets
into his confidence, and then with a great show of
secrecy informs him iiow he can make a pile of money
when the circus comes along. 'J'lie innocent citizen
bites at the bait and is steered afjainst a i^amblinj;
scheme either inside or outside of the tent, and loses
ol"len large sums of money. Pei-Jiaps lus is a man
whose social standing prevents him from making his
loss known, or, more frecjuently, hci'ails to suspect the
agent, who l)lust('rs around and declares that he, too,
has lost money on the scheme. And thus the show
goes from town to town, making almost as much by
UNDER THE CANVAS. 535
Stealing from its patrons as it does at the ticket wagon.
There are shows which make from $30,000 to $40,000
a season in this way and that goes a good way toward
paying for their printing, and is quite an item. I have
made war on these fellows for years and am determined
to keep it up. If I cannot run a show without having
a lot of gambling schemes attached to it, why then I'll
stop running a show. I abolished everything of the
kind last season, even down to the selling of lemonade
in the seats. I allow lemonade to be sold now, but
the men are watched carefully and the first one caught
swindling my patrons, off goes his head."
" Do you not find it difficult to keep gamblers and
confidence men away from your show? "
"I did at first, but it is now known amons; them
that I will not allow it and they keep away. My life
has been threatened several times just on account of
this, but I still live and still propose to keep up the
fight. I have been offered as high as $1,000 a week
for the privilege to rob my patrons by camp-followers,
so you can see that the privilege is worth something.
In Georgia a gang threatened publicly to kill vag on
sight for refusing to let them hang around my tents,
but some of my men went for them and cleaned them
out very effectually. The side-show privileges are sold
only on condition that no gambling shall be carried on
in the tents and that the patrons shall not be swindled
in any way. The side-shows can be made to pay with-
out robbery. Last season the side-shows that traveled
with my show, made $75,000, which was more than I
made."
CHAPTER XL.
ACROBATICS AND EQUESTRIANISM.
Nearly every man connected with the rinij work of a
circus is an acrobat of one kind or other. His al)ility
may be limited to turninj? a sin^jle somersault, still he
will be brought into the arena with the rest of the
company and opportunity will be atlbrded him to do
his best. It is not expected, however, to recruit the
ranks from such a class. Children must be trained to
the i)rofession, and a long and arduous training it
requires. If their parents are i)rofessionals their
studies will be all the more severe, and cuffs and blows
will be the only encouragement given their struggling
children. Fathers have been known to beat their sons,
to kick them in the presence of the audience, and to
add other and severer punishment when tlic young
acrobat reaches home. The Society for the Prevention
of Cruelty to Children could find plenty to do in pre-
venting brutal parents from abusing their little folks,
if not in putting an end entirely to the swift and rough
training that boys are put through in order that they
may be hired out or leased to circus managers. In
New Yolk I understand that l)roken-down ring })er-
formers have schools in which boys are taught every
branch of the circus business, just as there are riding
schools where young men and young women may learn
pad-riding and go even as far as riding bareback. The
schools for acrobats are usually conducted by cruel,
heartless fellows who urge the pupils to their tasks
(536)
ACROBATICS AND EQUESTRIANISM.
537
with a club, and while forgetting to say a kind word
when the pupil has done well, will never fail to say a
>
H
>
a
o
Iiarsh one when any mistake has been made. These
places are filled up with all the appliances of a gym-
538 ACROBATICS AND EQUESTIUANISM.
nusiiiiu — burs, r()i)o.s, weights, trapezes, tight-rope,
etc. Circus manairers in want of talent for small shows
going South or West apply here and take their choice
of the boys. A bargain is quickly made and the child,
for many of them are still mere children, goes forth
to join the throng engaged from April until October in
amusing the public in the sawdust arena.
When the child gets into the circus ring there need
be hope of no further sympathy. Its task is set and
must be done at all hazards. A failure one time to
accomplish a feat must be followed by another and
another attempt until the feat is at last satisfactorily
presented. Olive Logan was at a circus performance
at Cincinnati at which she witnessed an extraordinary
instance of cruelty on the part of a circus proprietor to
a child rider. The circus was owned and managed by
a certain clown. The clown-proi)rietor. Miss Logan
goes on to say, introduced a little girl to the audience,
saying that she would exhibit her skill in riding. He
stated that the horse was somewhat unused to the ring
and if it should happen that the rider fell, no one need
entertain any ap[)rehension of serious accident, as the
arena was soft and injury would be impossible. It was
surely an unhappy introduction for the child, and cal-
culated to fill her with fear and doubt. The child
whirled rapidly round the ring two or three times, using
neither rein nor binding strap. She stood on one
foot, then chanjjfcd to the other. After this she was
called upon to jump the stretchers. Had her horse
been well trained, the feat would have been no very
dilliiull one. But she became entangled in the cloth
and fell to the ground, under the horse's feet. She
was placed again on the l>a(k of the horse and com-
pelled once more to try the feat. Her fall had not
given her new coniidcnce and she fell a second time,
o
ACROBATICS AND EQUESTRIANISM.
539
Again
Evidently much against her inclination and in spite of
her trembling and her tears, nature's protest against
barbarity, she was tossed again to her place. But her
nerve had gone. She was utterly demoralized. Judg-
ment of distance, and faith in herself were lost,
she attempted to execute
the leap. Again she fell to
the ground, striking heav-
ily upon her head. She
rolled directly under the
horse's feet and only by
a sheer chance escaped a
terrible death. The au-
dience, — more merciful
than those within the ring,
by this time had been
thoroughly aroused and in-
dignant. Cries and shouts
were heard from all quar-
ters : " Shame ! shame ! "
'♦That'll do!" " Take
her out ! take her out ! "
came up from every side.
It would not answer to
disregard such commands,
and with a smile the rino;
master went to the child,
raised her from the dust trapeze.
where she lay, and led her, crying and sobbing, to the
dressing-tent.
The men and women who perform at dizzy heights
on the trapeze and flying rings frequently meet with
terrible accidents. Still the difiiculty of these feats is
being constantly increased, and performers, not satis-
fied with having their eyes open during their perilous
540 ACROliATICS AND EQUESTRIANISM.
flight from one tnipcze to another, envelope their heads
in sacks, and althou<ih not wholly blindinu: themselves,
very materially interfere with the vision, which in all
such instances should not be obstructed. A typical
accident of the trapeze kind happened at a performance
of old John liobinson's circus at South Pueblo, Col-
orado, on June 12, 1882. While the Alfredo Family
were performing on the trapeze, the stake which sup-
ports the rope pulled out of the ground, which had
been softened by the afternoon storm, and let the per-
formers— three in number, William, Lewis, and his
wife, Emma Alfredo — suddenly to the ground. The
act is a sort of double bicycle and trapeze performance.
William propels a bicycle back and forth on a lino
stretched from pole to pole, and Lewis and Emma
perform on two trapeze-bars suspended from the bi-
cyle. AVhen the stake pulled up last night the rope
collapsed just at the moment th;it Lewis was hanging
by his feet from the lower bar and Emma from the
upper, both straight down, with arms folded. Emma
caught herself on the lower bar and the side ropes,
but her husband fell straight to the ground, alighting
on the back of his head, the fall being twelve or four-
teen feet. He Avas at once removed to his dressing-
room, and tlie physicians who were summoned said
that his spine was iujurod. Half an hour later he was
removed to a hotel, where he died at four r. M.,
June 13th.
A gymnast who fell from a trapeze in New Orleans
gave the following account of his sensations: *'Amid
the sea of faces before me I looked for a familiar one,
but in vain, and, turning, I stepped back to the rope
by which we ascended to the trapeze, and going up hand
over hand was soon seated in my swinging perch. As
I looked down I caught sight of a fac(> in one of the
ACROBATICS AND EQUESTRIANISM. 541
boxes, that at once attracted my attention. It Avas
that of a beantiful girl, with sweet bhie eyes, and
golden hair falling unconfined over her shoulders in
heavy, waving masses. Her beautiful eyes, turned
toward me, expressed only terror at the seeming dan-
ger of the performer, and for the moment I longed to
assure her of my perfect safety, but my brother was
by my side and we l)egan our performance. In the
pauses for breath I could see that sweet face, now pale
as death, and the blue eyes staring wide open with
fear, and I dreaded the effect of our finish, which —
being the drop act — gives the uninitiated the impres-
sion that both performers are about to be dashed head-
long to the stage. Having completed the double
performance I ascended to the upper bar, and, casting
off the connect, we began our combination feats.
While hanging by my feet in the upper trapeze, my
brother being suspended from my hands (the lower
bar being drawn back by a super), I felt a slight
shock, and the rope began slowly to slip i3ast my foot.
My heart gave a grand jump, and then seemed to stop,
as I realized our awful situation. The lashintr which
held the bar had parted, the rope was gliding round
the bar, and in another moment we should be lying
senseless on the stage. I shouted ' under ' to the ter-
rified ' super,' who instantly swung the bar back to its
place, and I dropped my brother on it as the last
strand snapped and I plunged downward. I saw the
lower bar darting toward me and I made a desperate
grasp at it, for it was my last chance. I missed it !
Down through the air I fell, striking heavily on the
stage. The blow rendered me senseless and my col-
lar bone was broken. I was hurried behind the scenes,
and soon came to my senses. My first thought was
that I must go back and go through my performance
542
ACROBATICS AND EQUESTRIANISM.
at once, and I actually made a dash for the stage —
but I was restrained, and it was many weeks ])eforo I
was able to perform again."
The circus-goers of a decade ago were accustomed
to tight-rope and slack-wire performances in the ring,
when old men and young women, emulative of the eel-.
jroME. LA8ALLE.
cbrated Blondiii, wont through some wonderful evolu-
tions in mid-air. Now the tight-rope and loose wire
have both almost entirely disappeared from the ring,
and only in the small shows are they given a place in
the programme. Still there are many excellent per-
formers in this line who find cm[)loyment on the variety
stage among specialty people. The best of these is
Zanfretti, the pantomime clown, avIio though an old
ACROBATICS AND EQUESTRIANISM. 543
man displays wonderful agility when with balance-pole
in hand he finds himself at the half-way point on his
rope. Ladies who have taken to the hempen path
have attained prominence as rope-walkers. One of
the most beautiful and at the same time dangerous, of
the performances that the small shows offer to their
audiences is that of Madame Lasalle, who places her
little eight-year-old daughter in a wheelbarrow filled
with flowers, and on a rope thirty feet above the
ground without net beneath and with nothing but
hard ground to receive both in case of a fall, trundles
the barrow over a long rope while the people below
look up in breathless fear lest the barrow tip and
a dreadful accident result before the feat is accom-
plished. Tight-rope walking, however, is not nearly
so difficult as it appears to be. The performer needs
steady nerves, a cool eye, firm limbs and a balance-
pole, the last-named article being the most essen-
tial. Training is required, of course, but it is not of
the rigorous and protracted kind that other feats de-
mand.
The training of riders is not so difficult or attended
with such dangers, although it is perilous enough. If
a circus-rider has a son or daughter he wishes to bring:
up for the ring he will begin by carrying the child, as
soon as it is strong enough, upon the horse with him,
thus accustoming it to standing upon the animal in
motion ; but if a boy or girl is taken up at an age
when it is no longer easy to carry him around the ring
on the back of a horse, he is put in training with what
the circus people call " the mechanic." This is a beam
extending out from a pivoted centre-pole and having a
rope hanging down at the edge of the ring with a strap
at the end which is ftistened around the pupil's waist.
The rope is long enough to allow the pupil to stand
544 ACK015ATICS AM) KQUESTRIANISM.
upon the back of an animal, and by means of its sup-
port he is kept in an upright position until he gets
accustomed to the motion of a liorse, and is prevented
from falling should he miss his footinc;. He bcirins
with a pad on the back of a gentle animal, and keeps
on with "the mechanic" until he is able to stand
alone on the horse, from which time on the pad is dis-
carded and the pupil goes it bareback. Ed. Showles,
a good rider and prominent in his line, told me that it
takes about six months to break a boy in so that he
will be able to ride fairly, but that a girl may bo taught
in three months.
This trainini? goes on during the winter months
■while the circus is in quarters. A small ring is always
a department of the winter quarters, and in lliis the
trained animals are kept in practice and new ones are
broken in, the whip being freely used upon all in giv-
ing them their lessons. A horse that is intended for
the educated class after having acquired the ordinary
manoeuvres, for instance, must learn to get up on his
hind legs and paw the air with the fore legs, as wo see
them in pictures of the Ukraine stallions, etc. To do
this the animal must have his haunches strengthened.
Hv whi[)ping the fore legs ho is made gradually to rise
on the hind ones. The horse finds it difficult at first,
but judicious whii)ping gets him up in the air at last
and the sight of the threatening whip keeps him there
as long as there is strength in his haunches to keep
him up.
" The work of the leading c(juestrienne is one of the
most laborious in tin; whole range of tin; circus pro-
fession. It requires physical courage of the highest
order, combined with great ])ower of endurance and a
capacity for adopting oneself to a constant change of
scene and .•-urniuntiing. People who witness only the
ANNIE LIVINGSTONE,
ACROBATICS AND EQUESTRIANISM. 545
brilliant performances in the ring in an atmosphere
laden with light and mnsic, little dream of the weari-
some toil and drndgery which precede them."
The speaker was Miss Lilly Deacon, a fair-haired
English lady, with the form of a Juno, who arrived in
this country from London sometime ago to fill an en-
engagement as leading equestrienne in Forepaugh's
circus. As she appeared in the parlor in an interview
with a Philadelphia reporter, she might naturally have
been taken for the preceptress of some fashionable
English boarding-school, or the daughter of some
stiff old country squire of Kent or Sussex — or anybodj^
in fact, rather than the daring rider whose perform-
ances have bewildered and startled the circus-going
multitude of London, Paris, and Berlin. In feature
and manner her appearance was that of the English
gentlewoman, while her conversation throughout re-
vealed a delicacy of thought and expression common
only to the well-bred lady.
*' The training necessary to success in equestrian
performances," continued Miss Deacon, " is monoto-
nous in the extreme and in some parts very dangerous.
None but those in rugged health ever withstand it, and
no one without a perfect physical organization should
undertake it. The ordinary exercises of the riding-
school are trifles as compared with the tasks imposed
in professional training. When a woman has obtained
all the knowledge to be acquired in a riding-school,
she has only got the rudiments of real equestrian art.
She must then enter the circus ring and familiarize
herself with the duties required of her there. She
must be prepared to endure falls and bruises without
number, together with frequent scoldings and correc-
tions from the instructors. No woman, unless she be
possessed of extraordinary natural skill, ought to ap-
51(5
ACROBATICS AND EQUESTRIANISM.
pear in the ring l)oforo an aiulicnce until she has grad-
uated from a riduig-school, and then practised in tho
rin"- four or five hours every day for at least six months.
Those six months will 1)0 a period of torture and weari-
ness to her, ])ut she must undergo them or run the risk of
ACROBATICS AND EQUESTRIANISM. 547
almost certain failure and humiliation upon her first
appearance in public.
" The best equestrian instructor in Europe — in fact
the only one of established reputation — is M. Sal-
monsky of Berlin. He is one of the grandest horse-
men in the world, and in his great circus includes some
of the finest stock on the continent. He saw me first
in London, my native place, many years ago when 1
was performing with my brothers and sisters in Hen-
ley's Eegent Street circus, and oifered to take me with
him to Berlin and complete my training. I accepted,-
and entered his circus at the German capital, where I
received the most careful instruction he could give
me.
" M. Salmonsky would send me into the ring with
his most spirited horses every day and stand by to
direct my exercises. Sometimes I thought I should
never survive the terrible discipline, and often thought
I should go back to London and content myself with be-
ing a second-rate rider, but the kindness of my good old
instructor softened the innumerable bumps and bruises
I received, and I at last triumphed. Emperor William
and the crown i^rince attended the circus the night I
made my debut, and complimented me formally and
personally from their box.
" M. Salmonsky's course of training is very rigid,
and that accounts for its thoroughness. The pupil
must surrender wholly to the instructor and become
very much as a ball of wax in his hands. At the out-
set, however, the scholar must obtain complete mas-
tery of her horses. Fear is a quality utterly hostile
to successful equestrianism, and unless the pupil can
banish it at the start, she had better give up her am-
bition and abandon the profession. She will never
548 ACUOBATICS AND EQUESTRIANISM.
succeed so lonjj; us she is afraid either of herself or her
horses.
"l)iit, as I said l)efore, no one iinac(|uaintcd with
the dangerous ])rcparatory instruction of an eques-
trienne has any proper estimate of tlie toil and weari-
ness which her performances represent. One never
knows the boundless capacity of the human frame for
pains and aches until one has gone into training for
circus-riding. What, with unruly horses, uncomfort-
ahlc saddles, and the violent exercise involved, five or
six hours of practice every day for months is certain
to do one" of two things — it either kills the pupil or
l)rings her up to the perfection of physical womanhood.
The hours for practice adopted by M. Salmonsky were
in the forenoon — generally from eight to twelve,
with, perhaps, another hour or two in the evening.
To withstand this course one must dress loosely and
l)ecome a devotee to plain living and the laws of
hygiene. Any neglect of those principles, or any great
loss of sleep usually results in broken health and pro-
fessional failure.
"A <neat many persons w^ho have the idea that the
life ()[ a circus star is a happy one — that it is a round
of gorgeous tulle, tinsel, and ring-master - embel-
lished splendor — would be sadly shocked if they
could get a glimpse of the real thing. These people
ai-e mistaken. It is really a life of hard work at pretty
much all hours of the day. When the splendid Mile.
Peerless isn't speeding around the ring, lashing her
spirited b:ire-l)a(k horse to fury, amid the plaudits
of admiring thousands, she is mending her tights,
stitching tinsel on her costume, annointing her bruises
with balsam, or practising. The practice ol' tiie circus
rider is like the rehearsal of the actor, only more so,
for while the actor has only to rehearse until his first
ACROBATICS AND EQUESTRIANISM. 549
performance and then can go on playing a part without
further trouble, the rider must put in an hour or two
every day to keep her joints limber and her muscles in
proper trim. But for this daily practice the perform-
ances of our circuses would be the theatre of many a
tragedy instead of the scenes of mirth and gladness
that they are.
The fascination that the circus has for people who
know nothing about its hardships, is illustrated in the
case of a Georgia lady, who lived in luxury, and whose
husband was numbered among the most prominent of
the State's citizens. She became imbued with a de-
sire that she would like to sj^ort tights and gauze
dresses, and whirl about the ring on a spirited horse,
so she struck up acquaintance with an equestrian, who
happened to come along with a fly-by-night show,
and eloped with him. The husband followed the
show to Texas some months afterwards, and had an
interview with his wife, who had became an equestrienne
in a small way, doing a pad-riding act in each perform-
ance. An interview with the lady failed to make her
see her folly. The husband now grew desperate,
went away and hired a lot of cowboys whom he took
to the show with the understandino- that as soon as
Mile. Eulalia (the wife's adopted name) put in an ap-
pearance they were to rush forward, and seizing her
carry her from the tent. When the lady appeared and
had been lifted upon the horse by the clown, and the ring-
master was touching up the heels of the animal to get
him into a funeral jog, the husband and cowboys ad-
vanced. The husband seized his wife, drao-oed her
from the horse, and while the cowboys fought back
the performers and attaches he got her into a carriage
and drove her away, leaving the audience in the wildest
state of excitement. Kind words and gentle treat-
550
ACROBATICS AND EQUESTlilANISM.
ment brouirlit the woman back to licr senses, and she is
now in licr Georgia homo and docs not want any more
circus experience.
A Paris correspondent tells us that the funeral of
that charming circus rider, Emilic Loisset, who was
^
DAN. RICE.
killed in Ai)ril, 1882, was a Parisian event. The poor
o-irl had long inhal)itcd the United States, and had the
freedom of maimer and self-respect which so often dis-
tinguish the American young lady. She was on horsc-
bat^k one of the most graceful creatures imaginable.
The figure was lithe, but without moagerness. Ilcr
poses in the saddle were simply exquisite, and they
ACROBATICS AND EQUESTRIANISM. ' 551
appeared unstudied. The features were elegantly
formed, and the eyes expressed a brave, kind soul.
Emilia Loisset was more popular than Sarah Bern-
hardt had ever been in Paris. Her less successful
rivals in the circus were brought by her exceeding
amiability to pardon her public triumphs. She did
not seem ever to excite jealousy. On the days and
nights on which she performed the circus was crowded
with fashionable people. There was no amount of
wealth that she might not have possessed had she not
been a proud, strong-willed, self-respecting girl. She
had no carriage and used to walk from the hippodrome
to the Eue Oberkampf, where she had a small lodging
on the fifth floor. A number of aristocratic and plu-
tocratic admirers used to escort her to the door,
through which none of them were allowed by her to
pass. She aspired to create for herself a happy home
and to marry somebody whom she could love and
esteem. Her sister, Clotilde, is the morganatic Avife
of the Prince de Reuss, brother of the German ambas-
sador at Constantinople, and is looked up to in her
family circle. The admiration of the Empress Eliza-
beth for Emilie was increased by the fact that the
charming circus rider spurned the address of the crown
prince of Austria.
He was very much in love with her when she was in
Germany, a couple of years ago, and would have for-
sworn marriage if she would have consented to be his
Dubarry. She did not like the young man, and told
him so. The empress, when she was here, used to
make appointments to ride in the Bois with Emilie.
Her majesty thought the ecuyere charming to look at,
but wanting in firmness of hand. The horse on which
she rode with imperial Elizabeth in the shaded alleys
of the Bois was the one that occasioned her death by
552 ACROBATICS AND EQUESTRIANISM.
rollins' over on her and drivino: the crutch of the
saddle into her side. The august hidy noticed the
hardness of the brute's mouth, and the teasing and at
the same time irresohite way in which Euiilio held her
bridle.
Emilie Loisset aimed at classic purity of style.
There was nothing sensational in her manner. Her
imperial friend Elizabeth thought her the most lady-
like person she had seen in Paris. Her gestures were
simple, her address amiable, and there was serious-
ness even in her smiles. Members of the Jockey
Club spoke to her hat in hand. Her death was
entirely due to the hard mouth of her horse. At a
rehearsal the horse turned round, made for the stable,
and, finding the door shut against him, reared up
on his hind legs. Balance was lost, the horse rolled
over, and the crutch of the saddle smashed in the
ribs upon the lungs and heart. Poor Emilie had the
courage in this state to walk to the infirmary, and
when she was taken home to mount five flights of
stairs.
CHAPTER XLI.
A ROMANCE OF THE RING.
There is a great deal of romance in the life of a
circus performer ; and as the theatrical world is often
penetrated in search of subjects rich in fiction, so,
too, romancers enter the circus ring to find a hero or
heroine for an o'er-true tale. In a Western paper 1
found the following pretty and touching story, which
had evidently been copied from some other paper
without credit, and which, as it deals with circus life,
and particularly that feature of it we have just left —
equestrianism — I believe it will be found interesting,
and in reproducing it regret that I am unacquainted
with the source whence it came, as the publication in
which it originally appeared certainly deserves men-
tion : —
The North American Consolidated Circus was to
show in Shadowville. Shadowville was named after
a legend of a haunted shadow that envelopes the town
after sunset ; and long before the canvas flaps were
drawn back and the highly gilded ticket- wagon, with
the ' ' electric ticket seller ' ' was ready to change green-
backs for the red-backed " open sesame," the ground
and two streets leadino; to the lot were crowded with an
anxious, expectant, peanut-munching, chewing-gum-
masticating collection. The large posters and hand-
bills announced in highly colored style the arrival of
'*Miss Nannie Florenstein, the most wonderful bare-
back rider in the known world ! ' ' while the little
(553)
554 A ROMANCE OF TIIK RING.
"gutter snipes" simply begged the people to "wait
for Miss Nannie Florenstcin."
The " doors arc thrown open," and in less than
twenty minntes the immense canvas is rising and
falling with the concentrated respirations of five thou-
sand people. Such a crowd ! Charles Dickens, An-
thony Trolloi)o, or Bret Harte would hava been in
ecstacies at the curious collection of faces, costumes,
and vernacular, not to mention the expressions of
genuine enthusiasm or surprise at the entries into
the ring of even the sawdust rakers.-
The band has ended its attempt at one of Strauss's
waltzes, and the master of ceremonies, INIr. Lunt,
walks consc({ucntially into the ring^ bowing to the
vast concourse, who applaud at — they scarce know
what.
"This way, Mr. Oliphant."
"Aye, aye, sir ! 'Ere hi ham. Ah, sir! this bevy
of smilinj]^ faces is rcfreshin«: even to the sawdust.
[Applause.] What shall we have now, sir?" asks
the jester ( ?) as he throws his hat in the air and
catches it on — the ground.
"Mr. Tom Karl."
" Not the tender singer, sir? "
"You mean tenor singer I No I The pad rider,
sir."
" It's all the same, Mr. Lunt ; but time's Hying.
Ah ! here is Karl ! Now, then, Mr. Karl, that's the
way I used to ride — (aside) in my mind."
And so it goes. One act after another, each one
showing agility, daring, and skill ; while the old jester
and ring master entertain the crowd and rest the per-
formers.
"Miss Nannie Florenstcin, ladies and gentlemen,
will now have the honor of iippearing before you in
A ROMANCE OF THE RING. 555
her wonderful bareback ;ict — riding a wild, untamed
horse without either bridle, saddle or surcingle. An
act never before accomplished — although often at-
tempted — by any lady in the world ! Miss Nannie
Florenstein ! "
A lithe, pretty little lady, with an anxious, care-
worn face, stepped into the ring, and, acknowledging
the applause of the audience, vaulted lightly on the
back of her black horse, and quicker than a flash
of lightning was off. Around and aronnd the forty-
two-foot circle she goes, pirouetting, posturing, and
doing a really graceful and wonderful act.
She is what all the papers had claimed she would
be. There is a spirit of reckless daring flashing from
her dark eyes as she jumps " the banners," and even
the old and stoical ring master watches her anxiously
as she attempts one act more daring than the rest —
that of standing on her tip-toes on the horse's hind-
quarters and slowly pirouetting as the animal con-
tinues his mad career.
Suddenly she reels. She has lost her balance.
Over she goes. Her head has struck the ring board.
A shriek of a thousand anxious voices rends the air,
and all is confusion.
She is bleeding, bleeding profusely from a cut in her
forehead. A hundred hands are ready to convey her
to the dressing- tent.
A rough-hewn specimen of a man suddenly appears
in their midst. Where he came from or what moved
him no one knows.
*' Stand back ! stand back, I say, and give the gal
air ! Do ye hear ? ' '
Instinctively every one obeys him.
" Yere's a doctor. Doctor, this gal I know. 'Tend
ter her, an' look ter me for the perkisites."
556 A KOMANCE OP THE RING.
A quiet, confident-looking gentleman, Dr. Adiiras, is
alread}'- by her side, stopping the flow of blood, sind
under his directions she is conveyed to her dressing-
tent, the miner, tall, athletic, and with immense, sun-
burned beard, following anxiously in the rear.
The performance has been renewed and the crowd
are forgetting the accident, when the miner appears in
the ring dragging after him a performer. Monsieur La
Forge, as he is called, "the strongest man in the
world," who resists with all his might the iron muscles
that arc clinched like a vice on his collar.
A trapeze act is being performed, but all eyes are
on the miner and his victim, not one of the performers
having interfered, as they all dislike and fear La Forge
for his bull vino; braggadocio character.
" Lcddies and gintlemin, this yere coyote am ther
cause on that yere young gal er falling. I knows 'em
both. He wanted tor kill her. Yes, yor did, ye
skunk ! lie stole her when she war a chile from my
sister. I knowed him ; I knowed her. He hcarn I
was coming ter-day and he sed that he'd kill her.
Lay down, ycr he-bar ! Lay down, I say.
* *' I was standinj:^ close on ter this rinij^ when I seed
him fire sumthing at her. She turned her putty e^'es
to see what it Avur and over fhe went. Mister per-
formers, ye'll 'sense me fur interruptin' yer perform-
ances, but I thought I'd let these yere know who this
skunk is. Now, then, Meester Ler Forgey, alias John
liafferty, what have yer got to say to my statement? "
"Hang him! Hani' him 1 Strannjle him!" broke
in the crowd as they left their seats and rushed for th6
rmg.
"Back! Back! Ycr shan't hang him! Do yer
hear? Ther fust man that raises a finger to throttle
A ROMANCE OF THE RING. 557
him, I'll pile ill that yere saw dust! Do yer
hear? "
His revolver levelled at the angry, grumbling crowd
held them back. They all knew him. All knew old
Ned Struthers, the most daring and best shot on the
frontier ; a man whom the redskins feared more than
a whole army of trained United States soldiers ; a
remnant of a race of men who could settle the Indian
question quicker, better, and with less expense than a
whole army of Indian whiskey-selling agents ; a man
who they knew was dangerous and vindictive when
aroused. So all kept their distance.
*' Now, thin, yer goll-darned skunk, git up oflf yer
knees! Git!"
<' The doctor says Miss Florenstein is dying! " the
ring master, pale and breathless, announced as he ran
into the ring.
" Dying, did yer say, Mifeter? Oh, yer mean rat-
tlesnake ! Pray she may live — pray! Ef she dies,
I'll hang yer scalp on her coffin ! Do you hear? "
Poor Eafferty, by the intervention of the sheriff,
who had a free pass to the show, and was present, was
released from Ned Struthers' s hold and taken away to
the lock-up while Ned hurried to the bedside of his
sister's child. Miss Nannie Florenstein.
She tossed and moaned upon her improvised bed
of straw, an anguish-stricken few around her ; for
she was loved by the company. Her lustreless eyes
would open appealingly, and looking with tear-bedim-
med expression at some familiar face near her, try to
smile them a recognition — a sad, painful recognition.
The doctor knelt beside her with one hand on her
pulse and one on her bandaged forehead, and as he no-
ticed the weary, faint pulsation, would shake his head,
prophetic of her death.
558 A R05IANGE OF THE RING.
The flaps of her tent arc raised, and old Ned
Strutliers, hat in hand, looks in, asking in a mute
way permission to enter. The doctor sees him and
beckons him to her side.
Nannie hears his footstep as it crushes the straw be-
neath his weight, and, slowly oi)ening her eyes, looks
at liini in an indifferent, inquisitive way. Suddenly
they brighten ; she closes them as if to think — in a
minute opens them with a glad smile of affectionate
recognition lighting U[) her handsome, pale face, raises
her weak hand, beckons him to her, and as he takes
her little fingers into his brawny palm she pulls him
gently to her and whispers something in his ear. She
cannot speak loud.
Old Ned cannot keep back the tears as they slowly
run down his bronzed cheek and are lost in the shadow
of his beard. He has now knelt beside her and an-
swers her whispered question.
" Yes, little un ! I'm yer uncle — ycr loving uncle I
Got well, little un, and I'll take care on yer." He
could say no more.
She, poor little bruised body, turns to him a grate-
ful smile of affection, and again drawing him to her,
kisses his wrinkled old forehead, while the group who
are silent witnesses of the scene turn away their heads
in silent sorrow.
" Say, Doctor, can't we move her to sum more kum-
fortable (juartcrs? — to ther hotel? Her aunty lives
some twenty miles from yere, and I'll send for her."
Again Nannie opened her eyes, looking anxiously at
the doctor, but a shadow darkened the tent opening
and a young, handsome-faced man enters ; instantly
her eyes meet his, and she beckons him to her, and
drawing him down to her side, whispers a few Avords in
his ear. His face brightens, and turning to Ned —
A ROMANCE OF THE RING. 559
who is curiously watching this hist scene — puts out a
hard, muscuhir hand as he says : —
" Mr. Struthers, Nannie tells me you are her uncle.
I am engaged to be married to Nan."
Old Ned eyed him curiously and doubtingly as he
replies : —
" Wal, sir ! what Nan tells yer is gospel truth. I'm
her uncle ; but about the other part of the bizncss I
ain't so sartin " — but seeing Nan's troubled face ap-
pealingly turned to him, he continues : " But Avas she
right? Nan oughter be married. Ef she was she
wouldn't be yere, a jumping on bar horses' backs, he
showing her — I mean, sir, she oughter be at hum, and
I'd do thar barback ridin' for ther crowd — thet is, our
leetle crowd, ter hum ; but 'sense me, we must move
Nan — what's yer bizness, sir? "
" I'm in the same business as Nan ; we were brought
up together, trained together, and next week we were
to be married."
" Together, I serpose? " laughingly answered Ned,
as he saw Nan brighten and smile at her intended's
words.
Nan was carefully removed to a hotel, the proprie-
tor of the circus defraying all the necessary expenses
of a large room and extra attendance. Old Ned was
about to start for his sister's, Nan's aunt, to attend
her, as the doctor had taken a more hopeful view of
her recovery if properly nursed, when he, entering the
bar-room of the hotel, preparatory to starting, was
suddenly made aware that he was the target of at least
a dozen eyes, all staring with a perplexed gaze at him.
First he thought it might be something in his dress,
but this he quickly ascertained was not so ; then he
surveyed his face in the mirror opposite, At last he
got angry.
560 A ROMANCE OF THE RING.
" What arc yo all staring at? Do I owe cnny on
yer cnnything, ch? " He was defiant now.
" No, Mr. Struthcrs, you don't owe anybody hero
anything that I am aware of! We have congregated
here to congratulate you. We have heard you had re-
covered your niece and your mine, and wo come, as
fellow-townsmen, to congratulate you." It was the
town justice who spoke.
" My neese, parduer, I've diskivered, but ther mine
I wanter sell out to-morrow, and "
" Mr. Struthcrs, here's a telegram for you." A
messenger boy handed him a telegram.
*'Read that fir me, jidge, will yer?" And he
handed the telegram to the justice of the peace.
" Mr. Struthcrs, it is an offer from Col. Allston, of
San Francisco. He says : ' I will give you three hun-
dred thousand dollars and one quarter share for your
Red Gulch mine. Answer. Pay in cash.' That's
all, sir, only the news has been on the street for half
an hour ! ' '
" Wal, I declare that's prime news I Let's take a
drink, l)oys. Squire, you jist answer that tillygram,
will yer? Tell Kurnel Allston I'll take the offer, and
he may send the cash yere. Say, boys, thet's gud
news, but I must tell my neese ! "
" Mr. Struthcrs, before you go will you tell us about
your niece ? "
"Sartlingly! Yer see boys, abeout fifteen years
agone my sister died an' left har leetle one — Nannie
was her name — left her with a widder woman in
'Fresco. I war away in Nevady ; hed only been gone
three months. The young un war only nine y'ars old,
an' wdicn I got thet news I war struck dumb. Yer see,
my sister hed heart disease. I started with my pack
mule fir 'Fresco, but whin I 'rived thar the young un
A ROMANCE OF THE KING. 561
and the widder war gone. I hearn she hed gone to
Brazzel with her husband, a man named Kaflerty, a
sirkus performer, so I waited. Abeout thet time I
was takin sick with small-pox, and whin I got well I
could not get no news on thet young un, so I gave up
thar trial. Abeout one month ago I war at Red Gulch
Canyon, er staking off my ' find,' whin Jim Parkins,
my ole pard, wrote me from San Yosea thet my leetle
un war with this yere sirkus, and thet her name was
Nannie Florenstein. So I got on thar trail, found
this yere Eafferty hed her as his' n — or raether his
darter — got $200 a week fir her an' gave her nuthing,
so I lit on him yere to-day, drapped on him foul, and
ther war wolf meat in the air. But he crawled, an'
now I'm going ter send him ter prison. I think he
can do more good breakin' stuns than performing on
cannons — eh ? "
The crowd — it was a crowd by the time he had
finished — gave the old man three rousing cheers and
he escaped from them, hastening to Nannie's room to
find her wonderfully improved and able to sit up.
**** *****
The circus left Shadowville without " Miss Nannie
Florenstein," and to-day she has returned from a
village church a blooming bride, " Frank Grace, the
celebrated bareback rider," being her happy husband.
Old Ned occupies a seat in their carriage.
" Uncle, you have made me a happy woman and
Frank a happy man."
*' Yas, leetle un, I serpose so. It is better than
bar'-back riding, ain't it? "
" Yes, uncle. But how can I thank you for all the
wealth you have showered on me, and for the home
you have bought us?" again asked Nan, as she kissed
his happy face.
562
A i;()MAN< H OF Tin: KINCf,
"Wall, Icctle nil, I don't kiiuU'r want ciiy thanks,
only pk'.se don't — I
niean et" ycr licv cny
children, Icetlc un,
don't trust 'cm ter
euy widdcrs ter sell
'cm out ter sirkus
pcoidc fur bar' -back
ridin'."
" You may be cer-
tain of that Uncle
Str u th er s, " an-
swered Frank, as he
kissed his bride.
" "Wall, I hope so.
Enyhow, if ycr do,
see they doesn't fall
from thar horse's
back into a rich un-
c 1 e ' s ])ockct — eh,
you little pet! " And
the carriaj^c stopped
in front of their new
home, hajipy, bright
and cheerful.
A HU3IAN PYUAMID.
CHAPTER XLH.
LEAPING AND TIBIBLING.
One of the great features of all travelling tent-shows
and, indeed, in the long years a very prominent fea-
ture of the legitimate show when juggling, tumbling
and thino^s of that kind were either interspersed
between the acts of a tragedy, or filled the intermission
between the tragedy and farce, was the acrobatic art-
ist, the athlete, the gymnast, or whatever else you may
feel like calling him. At the beginning of this cen-
tury there were several renowned acrobats, and the
number has increased to such an extent — and the gen-
eral desire for exhibitions of physical skill — that acro-
batics have taken possession of many fields. The song
and dance man aims to introduce as much as possible of
it into his act or sketch, and even the equestrian and
equestrienne attempts and succeeds in combining per-
ilous somersaulting with skilful riding, and the nearer
the performer goes towards breaking his neck the
better the people seem to like it.
The athlete who displayed his prowess or skill in
the arenas of ancient Rome or Athens was a much
more important personage than the circus performer
of to-day. It was the passionate love of manly sports
which produced the matchless Greek form, the acme
of physical perfection. The successful athlete, acro-
bat, or charioteer of two thousand years ago was a pop-
ular hero, and his triumphs, loves, and career were
immortalized in poetry and song. A successful ath-
(563)
564 LEAPING AND TUMBLING.
lete was then of more importance than tlio congress-
man of to-day. And yet the modern athlete, Avhile
occupying a much lower social scale than the ancient
practitioner, is just as strong, and the acrobat of
to-day is even more skilful than his classic predeces-
sor. The circus performer thinks nothing of execut-
ing feats which no later than a century ago were
deemed impossible.
Nearly every man and boy who appears in the circus
arena now-a-days is counted a member of the corps
that does both grand niid lofty tumbling. In small
shows the corps of Icapcrs and tumblers is increased
by the addition of several dummies who can do little
more than turn a hand-spring or a forward somersault
either on the sawdust or from the spring-board. Many
of the best acrobats have begun their studies in the
open streets by walking on their hands or hammering
their heels against the bare bricks in somersaults or
hand-springs ; others have been educated in the ring
following their fathers and sometimes grandfathers
into the arenic profession. From the ranks of these
two classes some of the best acrobats and athletes have
sprung. I can recall several very good leapers and
tumblers, whose earliest efforts were 'witnessed and
wondered at in some vacant lot or friendly stable
yard — where spring-boards were improvised and feats
as dangerous as " revolving twice in the air without
alighting on their feet" — as the ring master usually
announces this act, in his most grandiloquent style —
were attcmjjtod itt the peril of young and frail necks.
So too with many horizontal l)ar and tra[)eze perform-
ers. But to come back to the loapors and tumblers.
The band gives a flourish and in lliey troop for the
" ground act." They form in a row, and bow to the
audience and then away each one whirls in a hand-
LEAPING AND TUMBLING.
565
spring and front somersault. Then they retire and
singly, the men begin to tumble backward and forward
across and about the ring, heads and feet are kept in
a whirl until the final effort is reached, when the clown,
who is frequently as good an artist in the business as
the rest of his turablinsi: confreres, chases the swiftest
of the number around the ring, the clown winding him
up while the latter rolls like a wheel, in back hand-
springs along the inner edge of the ring. A short in-
5(l6 LEAPfNG AND TminLING.
tervnl, and the le:i})crs coino in, — tlio same men as
those who have done the tumbling, — how, and retire to
follow each other rapidly down an inclined plane, ])oimd
from the spring-board, and after a forward somersault
land safely and gracefully in the soft mattress beyond.
One, two, three, four,, and five horses arc brought in
and placed in front of the spring-board while the mat-
tress is drawn farther away. As the number of horses
increases and the peril and distance grow greater, the
number of Icapers decrease till at last three appear, or
perhaps more horses are added to the equine line, the
mattress is placed at the farther end of the ring and
the ring-master — sometimes it is a lecturer like Harry
Evarts, the " little Grant orator," of Coup's show for
the past and present season — mounts a pedestal near
the entrance, and with stentorian voice remarks :
" L-.idies and gentlemen, Mr. Batchellor, the champion
leaper of the world, will now throw a double somer-
sault over nineteen horses [sometimes fewer elephants
are employed] — that is to say, the gentleman will re-
volve twice in the air before alighting on his feet on
the mattress — a feat that no other performer in this
or any other country can accomplish. Ladies and
gentlemen, Mr. Balchcllor," and Mr. Batchellor, who
is an excellent Icapor, and shares the championship
with Frank Gardner, formerly of Cole's show, but
now with Barnum, makes the leap in a clever and
comparatively easy manner.
This dilHcult feat, never executed, it is asserted, till
within the past one hundred years, can now be wit-
nessed at almost every first-class circus performance in
this country — but not always for the same distance
attained by Messrs. Batchellor and Gardner. Forty
years ago the Britisli i)er former who could throw a
double somersault was looked on as a wonder. The
LEAPING AND TUMBLING. 567
jvriter, some thirty-three years ago, saw Torakinson, a
famous British clown and acrobat, execute this feat
in Franconi's circus, then stationed for the season at
Edinburo;, ScotLand. It was the same Franconi who
afterward managed the hippodrome in New York in
1863-4, and the company was booked as first-chiss in
every respect. Tlie double somersault was performed
by Tomkinson at his benefit, and the announcement of
the then great feat packed the wooden building to suf-
focation. When the ring-master had made the prelim-
inary speech, and Tomkinson retired up the steep
incline Avhich termimated in the spring-board, every
heart stood still. A quick, impetuous rush down the
board, a bound high in the air, a slow revolution and the
gymnast descended nearly to the ground. It seemed
impossible to do it, but in the last six feet the curled
up body turned once more, and Tomkinson alighted
on the big, soft mattress on his feet, but staggering.
He was prevented from falling by the ring-master, and
as he turned to go inside, Franconi, the enthusiastic
French manager, patted him warmly on the back, amid
the applause of the vast audience. It was a rare feat
in those days. Tomkinson and the few other British
double somersault performers did it only at infrequent
intervals.
In this country Costella, a noted circus leaper, made
it more ditficult by clearing a number of horses at the
same time. But soon a number of acrobats were able
to follow his example, and even excel him in height
and distance. Nowadays a circus acrobat who cannot
do a double somersault is not considered anything but
an ordinary preformer unless he can do other sensa-
tional and original feats. Last year Barnum had a
corps of acrobats, of whom seven preformed double
somersaults every night during the season. John Rob-
568 LEAPING AND TUMBLING.
inson has five men who can do it. The most surprising
and unexcelled feat of double somersault throwinij: was
that of the Garnella Brothers, who performed it in
variety halls and circuses a few years ac^o. Standing
on his brother's shoulders the younger Garnella sprang
up and revolved twice, landing again on the shoulders.
When it is considered that the double somersault by
other performers is accomplished liy a short spurt, a
spring-board, and no restriction as to the spot ol alight-
ing, the feat of young Garnella must be classed among
the unprecedented marvels of the acrobatic art.
The triple somersault is a dream of every young and
ambitious acrobat. It requires phenominal dexterity
of body, and is known to be so dangerous that few
have even attempted it. Fame and fortune awaits any
performer Avho can do it, say twenty times in one
tentinf' season. Were it not that circus manaofcrs
know that the feat, or even the attempt, if repeated a
limited number of times, will certainly result in a
broken neck, they could well afford to pay the performer
$10,000 to $20,000 for a season ; and w^ere it not,
too, a proven fact, it would seem that the laws of
gravitation and the limitations of physical dexterity
forbade the turning of a triple somersault except I)y
accident. In turning a double somersault off a spring-
board, it is necessary to make a leap at an angle of
about thirty degrees to obtain the necessary " ballast"
or impetus to turn twice. If an almost perpendicular
leap is made, the leaper would not have leverage
enough to turn. In order to make the doul)le somer-
sault the performer has to leap from the springboard
with all his might to get the proper angle as well as to
attain a sufficient height, so that he may have time to
turn twice over before alighting. The same conditions
govern the triple somersault, only it is necessary to go
about one-third hi<rher int.) fh^* -'ir.
LEAPING AND TtTMBLING. 569
All American named Turner accomplished a triple
somersault once in this country and again in England.
He tried it a third time and broke his neck. It is
claimed that with this exception and the exception of
Bob Stickney, of John Robinson's show, and Sam Rein-
hardt, an ex-leaper, no acrobat has been successful.
The skeptic may say triple somersaults may be accom-
plished by the aid of higher and more powerful spring-
boards than those in use, but that would merely change
the angle, and the result would be the same. Of
course the board could be placed high enough, but the
specific gravity of the performer's body would be in-
creased while descending. The height is not the only
trouble. If it was only height, such men as Stickney,
Batchellor, Gardner and one or two others, by improved
appliances and practice would overcome that diffi-
culty. But after the double somersault is accomplished
and the performer is ready to turn again, he "loses
his catch" or the control of his body, and is governed
in his descent by gravitation alone. His head being
heavier than his feet, he is very apt to light on it first
and break his neck.
The first recorded attempt to throw a triple somer-
sault in this country was made by a performer in Van
Amburgh's circus at Mobile, Alabama, in 1842. He
broke his neck. Another attempt was made in London,
England, in 1846. It was made in Astley's amphi-
theatre, then leased to Howe & Gushing, the American
managers. In this company was M. J. Lipman, a fine
vaulter, Levi J. North, now in Brooklyn, New York, a
famous equestrian ; the late William O. Dale, a native
of Cincinnati, who died here, blind and broken down,
and who was an acrobat and equestrian of great
reputation, and Wm. J. Hobbes, a fine leaper. It
was previously announced that Hobbes would attempt
570 LEAPIXa AND TUMBLIXO.
a triple somersault, and the house was jammed. lie
tried it, and "was instantly killed. The next to try it
was John Amor, who was born under the roof of Dan
Rice's father's domicile, near Girard, Pennsylvania.
Amor travelled for years in this country with Dan Rice's
circus, and in that day was considered the greatest
gymnast in America, if not in the world. He is said
to be the first performer in America to turn a double
somersault over four horses. In 1859 he went to
England and travelled with a circus all through the
united kingdom. In the salne year he attomi)ted to
turn a triple somersault at the Isle of Wight, but
landed on his forehead and broke his neck.
Billy Dutton, it is said, performed the great feat
while a member of Lake's circus, at Elkhorn, Illinois,
in 18t)(), at a rehearsal, in the presence of John Law-
ton, the famous clown, now with Robinson's circus.
Dutton was ambitious to have it to say he did it, and
did not make the attempt with the intention of repeat-
ing it. lie made the leap from a high spring-board.
Dutton said then he would not try it again, and that
his lighting upon his feet was an accident, as he could
not control his body after turning the second time.
Frank Starks, who was well known in Cincinnati, un-
dertook the feat at the fair grounds in Indianapolis in
1870, for a wager of $100. In the first attempt ho
turned three times, but alighted in a sitting posture.
Every one was satisfied with the result, and the money
was tendered him. lie proudly refused it, saying he
would repeat it, and light U[)on his feet before he felt
sufficiently justified in taking the $100. He did re-
peat it, but struck on his head, dislocating his neck,
and death resulted a few hours afterward. Bob Stick-
ney accomplished the great feat when fourteen years of
age, while practising in a gymnasium on Fourteenth
LEAPING AND TUMBLING.
571
Street, New York. William Stein, an attache of
Eobinsoii's circus, was one of the persons who held
the blanket for him to alight upon. Sticknoy says he
believes he coukl do it again, but would not attempt it
for less than $10,000, c c
being fully convinced
that the chances for
his final exit from the
arena would be good
on that occasion.
Sam Reinhardt, a
former leaper, now a
saloon-keeper at Co-
lumbus, when with
the Cooper & Bailey
Circus at Toledo, in
1860, not being sat-
isfied with turning
double somersaults,
tried to add another
revolution. He
turned twice and a
half, alii^hting on the
broad of his back, and was disabled for a short pe-
riod. The fiict that a triple somersault was ever accom-
plished before a circus audience, after due announce-
ment, and under the same conditions as double somer-
saults are performed — namely, landing on a mattress
— may be seriously doubted. The best informed cir-
cus men say that it cannot be done with anything even
like comparative safety except in the sheets, a blanket
held by a number of men being used to catch the
alighting performer. It is claimed, also, that it has
never beeen accomplished except in that way.
BICYCLE RIDING EXTRAOR-
DINARY.
CHAPTER XLIII.
AN ADVENTURE WITH GIANTS.
I was ill the office of the old Evening Post, at St.
Louis one afternoon in 1879, when it was invaded by
Capt. M. V. Bates and wife, the tallest married couple
in the world. They were travelling with Cole's cir-
cus, and by invitation of the managing editor, who
wanted them interviewed, they visited the newspaper
office. A very small reporter had been assigned to do
the talking, and he waited patient ly around the estal)-
lishment until a carriage drove up to the door and a
shout went up, " Here they come," at the sound of
which the interviewer hurriedly made for the waste-
basket which was under the table. "Whether the jriant
and giantess saw the diminutive reporter or not they
kept on coming in, and the scribe saw no other way
out of it than to dive into the ample recesses of the
basket, and nestle upon a bed of school-girl poetry,
statesmen's essays, and applications from last year's
and the coming year's college graduates, for manag-
ing editorship. There is a barbaric sesquepcdalianism
(which is a good long word to ring into a chapter about
six-storied people) and a prevailing atmosphere of
suffocation in such a waste-basket ; nevertheless, the
tiny re2)orter crouched closer as the Brobdignaggian
people approached with a labble that noised their heels
upon the iloor, their tongues against the roofs of their
mouths, and that made things look and sound as if all
the (piarreling powers of Europe had set their com-
(572)
AN ADVENTURE WITH GIANTS. 573
bined forces clown in the Evening Post office for the
special purpose of driving tlie senses of its whole staff
out through the top of the building. But all this was
seraphic bliss compared with the awful moment when
the giant captain deliberately sat down on the table
just over the waste-basket. It would take a million
horse-power jackscrew, I should think, to raise the fal-
len hopes of the reporter just then. A man stands some
chance if a custom-house falls on him hurriedly, but
chance crushed to earth never rises a2:ain, when a ofiant
like this is threatening to make any easy-chair out of him.
I suppose nearly everybody has heard the funny story
about the fat woman and the living skeleton, in a New
York museum, who fell in love with each other. They
got along very nicely for a while, and were as affec-
tionate as if the two had pooled their issues of flesh,
blood, and bone, and divided up so that each tipped
the scale at two hundred and sixty pounds, instead of
the whale-like spouse tipping the scale at four hundred
and ninety, while the skeleton husband did not need
any more than a thirty-pound section of the beam to
balance his weight. They were as happy as the sweet-
est of the singing birds until one day the husband al-
lowed his heart to stray off to the Circassian girl, who
had been orginally born in Ireland, but had her hair
curled for a short side-show engagement. Mr. Skele-
ton was making the weightiest kind of love to the fair
Circassian for probably a month before the fat woman
was made aware of the fact. Then the monster that
is usually represented as green-eyed, took possession
of her. She kept a careful vigil of all " Skin-and-
bones' " doings, as she called him, until one day she
found him during the noon hour, with his lean arms
around the Circassian girl's neck, and his thin lips
glued to her pouting labials of cherry-red. It is ira-
574 AN ADVENTURE -WITH GIANTS.
possible to describe the terrible manner in which she
swooped down upon Mr. Skeleton. It was enough to
say that she covered space with alarming rapidity, and
takiiigher thirty-pound husband by the back of the neck,
shook an Irish jig out of his rattling bones, after which
she threw him on the floor and deliberately sat upon him.
The vivacious showman who told this story said a mill-
stone could not have made a nicer sheet of wall-paper
out of the living skeleton, had one fallen on him, and
only for the buttons on his vest he could have been
pushed tiirough the crack under the door, after the fat
woman jjot throuMi with him. But to come back to
Capt. Bates, the table upon which he had seated him-
self groaned, and the little reporter moaned. The
fleetini? seconds were masruified into centuries, and the
man in the waste-basket afterwards told me that he
felt himself shrinking into somethinij: like a homoeo-
pathic pill. The tal)le, however, appeared to stand the
pressure a great deal better than the i)erson under it,
and it was sometime before the latter came to recon-
cile himself to the safety of his situation. When he
did so he peeped out.
The sight that met his gaze was a curious one.
There was the great towering giantess, of jjleasing
features and Avith nothinc^ofa " fcc-fo-fum " air about
her, quietly seated in the editor's chair, taking in the
situation as if she had l)een accustomed to the thing
since Adam's father was bald-headed. And there
were the editors and news-hunters gazing on admir-
ingly, with one or two of them particularly awe-stricken
and wild-eyed. But the background was the thing.
It was a circus in itself. At the doors and windows,
upon tables and chairs, and perched further up on the
top of an inoffensive and weak partition, as high as the
giant himself, was a ghastly array of gajjing mouths and
AN ADVENTURE WITH GIANTS. 575
bursting eyes in a setting of eager and dirty faces, —
inside and out, high and low, anywhere and every-
where around the institution within seeing distance
were newsboys and boot-blacks till one couldn't rest;
with a dim and distant horizon of more respectable
visitors who had been tempted in by the unusual scene
and noise. After the usual courtesies had been inter-
changed, the editor remarked : —
" I had a young fellow assigned to interview you,
Captain, but I don't know where he is just now."
"Perhaps he's gone to git an extension ladder,"
suggested a forward newsboy.
" No, Skinny, " said another ; "he told me he was
going to get old Stout's balloon."
At this moment there was a commotion under the
table. The giant's foot had swung back and collided
with the waste-basket. To say it was a big foot would
be like calling the pyramid of Cheops a brick-bat or
the Colossus of Rhodes an Italian plaster-cast. They
say Chicago girls have big feet ; I don't know this to
be a fact, but if they have anything like the pedal
spread of Captain Bates they are entitled to the credit
generally given them of greatness in this way. At any
rate the collision between the foot and the basket
caused the recondite reporter to disclose his where-
abouts. The managing editor qualified his conduct as
unbecoming a newspaper-man, aud the giant himself
gently requested the scribe to come forward.
"You won't make a watch-charm out of me?"
queried the reporter, apprehensively.
" No, no," the giant answered, in an assuring tone.
" Nor a scarf-pin? "
The giant said he wouldn't.
This allayed the reporter's fears, and he came for-
ward from the atmosphere of " respectfully declined "
576 AN ADVENTURE WITH GIANTS.
literature in which ho had been. Capt. Bates's greet-
inir was most kind, and so was that of his wife. The
reporter saw at once there had been no necessity for
his previous timidity, and managing to get within a
couple of yards of the giant's ear, he excused his
awkward and silly actions. A pleasant chat followed,
ill which the giant and giantess gave brief outlines
of their personal history.
Capt. Bates is now (1879) thirty-five years of age,
stands seven feet eleven and one-half inches in heiirht,
and Aveighs about four hundred and eighty pounds. lie
is well put together, handsome in features, genial in
speech, and has the reputation of being a sharp,
shrewd man of the world. ]Mrs. Bates is thirty-two
years old, of the same height as her husband, although
she really seems to bo taller, and turns the scales at
about four hundred and twenty pounds. She is thin-
ner in form, but of excellent physique, is handsome,
and has the same frank and smiling expression on her
face as that constantly worn by her husband. She
says she likes the show business, because it brings
her in contact with so many persons. The Captain,
though, having been in it about twelve years, and
accumulated considerable means, does not care much
about parading his colossal proportions before the
public. It has been his desire of late years to live in
private, quietly on his farm in Ohio, where the couple
have a house built expressly for them, with doors, win-
dows, furniture, etc., on a giant scale; but until this
year they received so many handsome offers that they
forsook the sod for the sawdust, and the plow for the
platform. In ISSO, I think it was, a giant child was
born to this enormous couple The infant weiglied
twenty-eight pf)nnds at 1)irth.
After listening patiently to the Captain and his wife
AN ADVENTURE WITH GIANTS. 577
as they spoke of themselves, the little reporter whom
I have introduced the reader to alreadv, sujjo-ested as
he nearly dislocated his neck in looking up at the lofty
couple, that it would have been a nice thing to be
around when they were making love to each other, but
Mrs. Bates said that was rather a delicate matter to
call up, and the reporter subsided. I could not help
thinking, however, that a fellow must feel awful queer
with four hundred and odd pounds of sweetheart upon
his knee. Himalayan hugging going on all the time,
and lovc-sio;hs that needed a Jacob's ladder to come
from the heart-depths playing above his head like
mountain zephyrs around the Pike's Peak signal ser-
vice station. And then when a fellow felt his love
away down in his boots, what an Atlantic cable job it
must have been to find out exactly where it was ! And
the old garden gate, how it must have been like the
gates that brave Samson shouldered with probably a
little extra bracing to it. And what chewing-gum
swopping nmst have gone- on, and ice cream eating,
})crhaps a plate as large as a Northland yoA'eZ at a time,
and no two spoons in it, either? Oh, but it must have
been a heavenly thing !
"You weren't afraid of her big brother. Captain,
were you? " friendly interrogated the reporter,
*' Oh, no ; not at all," answered the Captain. -
" If you sat down on him once you could have sold
him for a bundle of tissue paper, couldn't you? "
" That is not it, my boy," said the Captain. " She
didn't have any big brother."
'* Oh, yes, I see."
Then the discourse turned into other channels, in-
tended to be of special interest to splacmucks — as
the Brobdignaggians called ordinary mortals — who
are contemplating marriage with giantesses.
578 AN ADVENTUKE WITH GIANTS.
** I suppose Mrs. Bates does not wield an ordinary
rolling-pill?" the reporter half queried, addressing
himself to Capt. Bates.
*♦ No, indeed," the lady herself replied, laughingly.
*' I have one made expressly for my own use, from
one of the largest of the Yosemitc Valley trees."
"And you lay it on the old man now and then?"
the reporter asked.
" I can answer for that," put in the Captain. " She
sometimes brings it down so heavily on the rear eleva-
tion of my skull that it feels as if I had run against a
pile-driver on a drunk or lost my way under the h;im-
mers of a quartz mill."
Mrs. Bates certainly had the physical strength to
make a rolling-pin dance a lively jig in any direction,
and if the weapon is anything at all like what it is here
represented to be, Thor's celebrated hammer -will have
to go to the hospital as a weak and debilitated concern
until the gi<iiits lay their domestic difficulties aside and
retire permanently from active service.
•' It miist be a gigantic thing 'svhcn the Captain comes
home late at night, from the lodge, you know, falls
through the kitchen window into a pan of dishes, and
after stumbling up stairs goes to bed with his boots
on?" the reporter insinuated, as he looked sorrow-
fully at the giantess.
" Oh, he never docs that," said tiic lady ; and after
a minute she added, " and he'd better not."
The giantess looked knowingly at the giant who looked
down at the floor. My thoughts wreathed themselves
fondly around the Yosemite-tree rolling-pin, and I guess
Capt. Bates's thoughts were turned in the same direc-
tion.
"Nobody ever dares to write billet-doux to Mrs.
Bates," said the reporter. " I suppose you know
AN ADVENTURE AVITII GIANTS.
579
circus and theatrical people are subject to that sort of
thillir. "
" Not any body that I know of, " the Captain an-
swered.
" And I suppose if anybodydid they wouldn't care
about having you
know it, either? said
the little Evening
Post man.
The Captain made
no reply, but a mys-
terious kind of look
crowded into his |i
eyes, and if anybody B
around the newspa- g^
per office had dared =^^
to entertain a spark i^
of affection for the
giantess he could see
at once that he didn't
stand the ghost of a
show while the giant
was around.
"Now, Captain,"
the tiny and timid
reporter remarked,
moving to a distance,
"I know you like
travelling, and I have
one more q[uestion I
would like to ask
you. It is about ho- _
tel accommodations. giantess.
Don't jou occasionally have to hang your head or feet
580
AN ADVKNTUUi: WITH GIANTS.
over the cmls of of the beds you encounter? "
This question disgusted the Captain and he rose
from the table indignantly, as did Mrs. Bates from the
editorial chair, and doubling themselves up as they
reached the doorway
they majestically
s w e p t out of the
news[)aper office, and
stepping into their
carriage were driven
away.
Another notable
ir i a n t is Colonel
Routh Goshan, who
was born in the city
of Jerusalem, on the
.'>tli day of Ma}', '37,
of Arabian parents.
Ho is the youngest
of a family of 15
children, who like
himself, father and
mother were all gi-
ants, lie served
with distinction in
the Crimean war,
niid aflcrwards in the
Mexican army.
Colonel Goshen
stands? feet 1 1 inch-
es in his stocking
feet, and measures
75 inches jnonnd the chest, 25 inches around the arm,
and wears a 'So. 1 1 siioc. I lis ^vcight is (JHG pounds.
^
GIANT.
CHAPTER XLIV.
THE *' TATTOOED TWINS."
WANTED —The address of some one who can tattoo with Indian ink on the
person. A. J. H., No. , th Street.
This advertisement appeared in a St. Louis Sunday
morning paper. The number and the street are not
given for reasons that will at once present themselves to
every intelligent reader. Now there is sometimes that
in an advertisement which atti-acts one like a pretty girl.
A few lines may furnish a neat little intellectual flirta-
tion, and very frequently can, like a coy and pretty
maiden, keep coaxing a fellow along until he is per-
fectly lost in the maze of an aflectiou that he has
neither the tact nor the willingness to try to escape
from. As soon as my eyes lit upon them and the
words from the capital W in the beginning to the pe-
riod at the end were taken in, I was irrevocably gone
on them. Like the immortal J. N., I immediately
lifted the veil and looked at the suppositious sanctuary
behind it, and then saw that walking art gallery, Capt.
Costentenus — known to thousands of people who saw
him travelling as the tatooed man — lying bound hand
and foot upon the earth and surrounded by half a dozeq
Chinese Tartars, who were industriously pricking him
with pointed instruments, which were ever and anon
dipped into the little basins of blackish-blue liquid.
The scene changed suddenly into a room at No. —
th Street, and the Tartars were metamorphosed
into a single individual of a decidedly Caucasian aspect,
(581)
582 THE TATTOOED T\riNS.
but with features wrought in that indistinctness which
very frequently is eh:iracteristic of the shapes and
forms seen in waking dreams, and the Greek Captain
was rephiccd by an equally Caucasian subject, who was
quietly undergoing the operations of having his breast
tattooed in the most hivish and picturesque manner that
the artist knew how. This idea fastened itself in my
mind to such an extraordinary extent that merely for
the purpose of gratifying a certain instinctive curi-
osity, as well as to see if my suppositions were cor-
rect, I called at the house indicated next afternoon.
It was a large three-story boarding-house in a very
quiet part of the city, and situated romantically
enough to lend the coloring of fact to the picture I
had previously conjured up of the surroundings of the
jrcntleman who wanted to be tattooed,
c
A young girl opened the door, who knew nothing of
the person who owned the initials that appeared in the
advertisement. I explained that this was the number
and street — it .was certainly the right house — and
couldn't she recollect some name that besran with an
H. No, she could not. She did not think there was
any gentleman boarding in the house whose name be-
gan with an II, and then she recollected that there
had come to the house a few days before a man whose
name she did not know. She would call her mother.
"Ma! oh, ma!" rang down through the hallway,
and around behind tiie staircase, and down into the
dining-room, and up came the assuring response,
" I'll be there in a minute." Enter the landlady with
a wet towel on her head, and wiping her fingers on the
corner of her apron. In answer to the daughter's query
as to what the " new gentleman's " name was, she re-
plied, as if she had known him since the corner-stouo
of Cheops was laid, that he was Mr. Ilenneberry.
THE TATTOOED TWINS. 583
Was he in? No, not just then, but he wouUl be back
in time for dinner, which would be spread in al)outhalf
an hour. Somewhat disappointed I replied that I
Avoukl take a walk around and call at the end of the
half hour, and was about to leave the door when a
voice was heard on the upper landing, and the words
" Hold on ! " shouted in a very peremptory manner
brought me to a halt. It was Mr. Henneberry, as I
soon ascertained, when a tall, stout, well-proportioned
gentleman, of handsome features and the prettiest
black hair my eyes ever gazed upon, came down, in-
troduced himself, and invited me in. The object of
the visit Avas explained in a few words.
" Well,-' said Mr. Henneberry, " I've been just
talking to a gentleman up in my room, an old sailor,
who was crippled some years ago, by falling from the
spar of a South American sailer, so he says, and who
appears to be pretty expert. I rather like the man,
and I think he Avill about suit me. He needs money,
what you don't appear to do, and I think he is just the
very man for what I want. So you see, I think you're
a little late."
I expressed my regret at not having seen the adver-
tisement earlier.
"You see," continued Mr. Henneberry, "I want
somebody who will stay in the house here, and be
available at all times during the day. It's a pretty
long job — " and here he checked himself. "No, I
don't mean a long job, because there ain't much of it,
but what there is has got to be done neat and right up
to the handle. What sort of work can you do? "
I bared my arm and exhibited a large death-head
and cross-bones, an American eagle, and a bust of
George Washington, which I had tattooed into me,
when young and fond and foolish, by a Greek sailor I
met in Milwaukee.
584 THE TATTOOED TWINS.
*' That's pretty good," said Henneberry. " Where
did you learn the business — if I might call it a busi-
ness?"
Here I explained that an old sail-maker had taught
me the art and that, having aequired the modus oper-
andi of pricking the color into the flesh, I was perfectly
at home in the business, as I was also an experienced
sketch er.
Further talk followed, in which Mr. Henneberry
spoke of tattooing generally, but made no allusion to
the person to be tattooed nor the extent of the work to
be done. At last, as he rose from his chair, as a gentle
reminder that he had said about all he wanted to say,
remarked that I might call again, as lie had yet made
no detinitc arrangement with the man up-stairs and
probably would need two.
I went off chagrined, and wished that the old salt
with the broken leg, who had gotten in ahead of me
had broken his neck when he fell from the spar of that
South American sailer. I left the door whistlmg, "We
Parted by the River Side."
A saunter into a shady spot at a safe distance from
the house, and a mind made up to await the outcoming
of tiio successful rival, were the results of a sudden
insi)iration. An hour passed, a half more, three
quarters, and it was just about an even couple of hours
when out from the door of No. — , — th Street, limi)ed
a middle-aged, bent man, and he came directly towards
me. He passed me by, for about half a block, when I
caught up, and introduced the opening wedge of con-
versation by remarking that the weather was a little
cooler than folks around there had been used to for the
past month or so.
"Well, yes," was the reply, " but I don't mind it
so much. You see I've hove to in hotter })orts than
this'll ever be. That sui-troke period was Injun
THE TATTOOED TWINS. 585
summer compared with the brimstun climate I've
pulled through. I've been along the African coast
when it was hot enough to make a mill-stun sweat. If
they could have just shipped that weather North it
would thaw the North Pole into hot water inside of fif-
teen minutes."
And then the crippled sailor told of other experi-
ences in other warm climates, and we talked on in
an easy, friendly way for three or four blocks, when
my companion remarked that he was going to take the
cars. I said I was going to do the same, and as soon
as we were seated on the shady side of the conveyance
I remarked in a careless, off-hand way : —
" You got ahead of me in that job down at Henne-
berry's, old man." •
He opened his eyes, looked at me half suspiciously,
and said: "Then you're the young man the gentle-
man was talking about to me. You went to see him,
this afternoon ?' '
An affirmative was the answer.
" Well, you needn't be so put out. He ain't en-
gaged nobody yet. At least he ain't closed with me.
You see, he's a bit scary. Didn't he tell you what he
wanted ? ' '
*' Yes. At least, he left me to infer that he wanted
either himself or somebody else tattooed."
"All over?"
" I thought that was what he meant."
" Well, blast his jib ! He made me make all sorts
o' promises not to open my port-hole about it."
" It is a very funny project, isn't it? " asked the re-
porter.
"Oh, no, not at all. I've been at it afore. I
worked at a man up in Canada for about three months
and got him nigh half done, when he died."
580 TIIK TATTOOED TWINS.
"It's ji pretty dangerous operation, this tattooing? "
was the next gentle insinuation.
"Yes, sometimes. But IIennc1)crry can stand it.
He looks as if he had the constitution and he appears
to be reckless of the consequences. He wants to bo a
show-fellow. He's struck on it, just the same as that
Canada chap who kicked. He's got an idea that
there's money in it, and he's always talkin' about that
Grecian chap as is with the circuses, you know."
" How long will it take to do the job? "
"Well, that I don't exactly know. He talks of
havin' two of us at it. ]\Iaybe you're the other fellow,
and he's in a stormy hurry al)out havin' it finished up,
and wants a fellow to stay in the house with him all
the time so that he can take his tattooini; just when he
feels like it. Are you good in drawin' dragoons, ilyin'
fish, elephants, boey constrictors and sich, young
man?"
I replied that I was an adept in delineating animals
of the sort named.
"Then I guess he'll want you. I used to be a
pretty good drawer myself afore I fell fi-om that South
American, but my hand shakes no little now ; l)nt you
just lay the lines, and if I don't stick 'em in as clean
as a copper }jlate, my name ain't Jack Hogan."
" What will he pay for the job? "
"Well, I asked $(;()() calc'latin' six months would
do it, but he brought me down to $if)0 and will pay
my l)oard and lodgiiT. That ain't l)ad."
The reporter coincided witJi Jack Hogan that it
appeared to be a pretty good thing.
"And you don't git your money down cither. He
wants to be fixed up from the soles of his feet to near his
shirt collar and wristbands, in the house where he is
now, and then he's goin' oil' to some quiet spot and
THE TATTOOED TWINS. 587
have his face and hands and even his ears and the top
of his head, for he's partly bald, done up in some place
in the country, or may be out in some of the Pacific
islands, and if it's a bargain between us I'll have to go
with him."
«' What catches me," said I, as we got up to leave
the car, *' is what Henneberry will do with himself when
the finishing touches are all put on him."
«' I can't say, but I s'pose he'll go off to the Sand-
wich Islands, marry a nigger squaw, or something of
that sort, and come back with a cock-and-bull story
about being captured by savages, and then swing
'round the circle with some circus or other. He's got
the money to push the thing through, and I believe he
can stand it. Maybe he'll travel with old Cos'tenus,
and they'll call themselves the tattooed twins."
And the old fellow laughed heartily as he got down
carefully from the platform of the car, and limped
away towards the river — perhaps down to the Bethel
Home on the levee.
The foregoing story may be regarded as quite a val-
uable clue when associated with a piece of information
furnished by an Albany, New York, journal, whose re-
porter says the work on Capt. Costentenus's body pales
when compared with that shown by a young man who
stopped over in Albany one evening last summer on
his way from Saratoga to his home in Syracuse. His
name is Henry Frumell, and he is but twenty-three
years of age. Although so young, he has, according
to his own story, seen considerable of life. In 1876
he ran away from home, shipped on a merchant vessel
which was trading among the Washington Islands in
South Pacific. While there he underwent the tattoo-
ing process, which he described as the most painful
torture ever endured.
588 THE TATTOOED TWINS.
" IIow was it done, and by whom? " ho was asked
by a reporter.
" By the natives, and with six needles fastened to a
stick. Do you see them (showing the backs of his
hands and wrists)? There is a lady's face on one and
a man's on the other. Vermilion red and indigo blue
were used, being pricked in with the needles. Now you
see that the work is executed just as neatly and per-
fectly as it could possibly ])e on the human skin.
Well, it took weeks before the design was finished,
and it had to be pricked over a number of times."
*' It must have been painful."
" It was. But then I had no choice but to sub-
mit."
" Why, were you compelled to undergo the tattoo-
ing?"
" Hardly that, but it was wiser to do so."
"IIow could natives execute the work so per-
fectly?"
" They used designs given them by a sailor named
John Wells, who belonged to an English vessel.
Those on my wrist are not so i)erfect as on other por-
tions of my body."
" Did they tattoo you all over? "
"All except a small portion of the left leg above the
ankle."
The designs so ineffaceably worked into Frumell's
skin arc numerous and beautiful, and some of them so
appropriate to the young man's nationality that it is
difficult to imagine how a South Pacific savage, even
with an English sailor for an advisor, should have se-
lected such fitting pictures. On his back, extending
from shoulder to shoulder, and from the nape of the
neck downward was a spirited illustration of two ships
in action. Below it is a snake with protruding fangs
THE TATTOOED TWINS. 589
and a scroll with Paul Jones's motto, " Don't tread on
me." On his breast is the national coat of arms
worked on the breast of an American eagle with
pinions outspread, and the national colors in its beak.
This covers the entire breast from armpit to armpit,
and from the throat downward. Both arms are liter-
ally covered with designs of beasts, birds, and flowers.
The lower limbs are also ornamented, one with the
*' Crucifixion of Christ " and the other with the sham-
rock, harp of Erin, and other designs. Each knee-
cap looks like a full-blown rose, with its vivid coloring
and almost perfect imitation of that flower. The re-
mainder of his body is similarly decorated, over five
months being occupied in the process, and consider-
able more time being occupied in healing. His skin
has the feeling of the finest velvet, and he says that he
does not experience any evil effects from the immense
quantity of poisonous dye injected into the cuticle.
He has tried to eradicate the designs on his hands by
burninfi:, but without avail.
CHAPTER XLV.
IN THE MENAGERIE.
Before cnterinjr the menao^crlc let us look at the
huire cimiioii standiiiiji: here outside the dressin^^-tent.
It looks like a ponderous affair, but investigation shows
that it is made of wood. There is a latitudinal slit
at the lower end and a lever. It requires an effort to
push the lever back which indicates that there is a
pretty strong spring in the bottom of the cannon.
This is the piece of ordnance that Zazel is shot out of
into a uet some distance away. She lies on her back in
the cannon, which is tilted to an angle of al)out forty-
five dcirrees, assumes a rijjid position, and at the word
fire the lever is pulled back, the spring released, a
pistol is fired, and while Zazel is coming through the
air a little cloud of smoke rolls from the cannon's
mouth and is swept away almost l)efore she lands on
her back in the net. Sig. Farini says Zazel is his
daughter. Barnum savs that when he was in London
where Zazel was doing the cannon act, creating a
great furore, the pretty little French girl c.inio to him
crying and asked to bo taken away. She was only
irettinir about six dolhirs a week for the perilous work
she was doing and Farini was (bawing a large salary
out of wliich she got this pittance.
SiiT. Farini also owns the Znlns that have appeared
here. As their manager he is well paid for them, and
as the Zulus sh'('[) in the menagerie tent and have but
few wants and he gives them about a dollar a day —
(590)
IN THE MENAGERIE. 591
SO Barnum says — Cetawayo's subjects are a profitable
investment for him. Zulu Charley on exhibition in
New York gets the magnificent sum of one dollar a day
for doing his native war-dance and standing fire under
the numerous eyes that are leveled at him daily.
There is a bit of romance about this black warrior.
Amono; the crowds who thron2:ed to see the antics of
the Zulus at Bunnell's Dime Museum, New York City,
last winter, was an Italian girl named Anita G. Corsini,
eighteen years old, a music teacher by occupation, and
the daughter of a Mr. Corsini who is in business in
New York. Zulu Charley won her admiration and
love, and she spent many quarters from her hard-earned
savings to see the dusky object of her affections.
Charlie did not repel her affections and they swore to
be true to each other. Mr. Corsini, however, did not
regard with favor the prospect of a marriage between
his dausfhter and a negro, and did evervthing in his
power to dissuade her from carrying out her inten-
tion. Last week, however, the couple eloped, but
while on their way to a minister's house they were ar-
rested at the instance of Anita's father.
When the case came up on the following morning in
the Jefferson Market court the father wanted to have
the girl sent to Blackwell's Island, but upon her
promise to obey him and leave the Zulu he changed
his mind and took her home. But she again met
Charley and, accompanied by another Zulu named
Usikali, and Charles Richards, a white man, they went
to the residence of the Rev. R. O. Page, Brooklyn,
and asked to be married. The minister consented,
but he seems to have made a mistake, addressing
all the questions to Usikali instead of to Charley,
and then pronounced them man and wife. On learn-
ing his mistake, however, he performed another
592 IN THE MENAGERIE.
ceremony l)ctwccn the right parties. The newly mar-
ried couple then went to the museum, where the
bridegroom took part in the usual Zulu war-dance.
The tattooed Greek Costentenus Avith his picture-
covered flesh is always an ol)ject of admiration to the
ladies. He says he was tattooed into his present
shape by Chinese Tartars and tells a harrowing story
of his sufTerinss.
The torturing doesn't seem to have impaired his
health or bothered his ai)petite any. He is a magnifi-
cent looking man physically and in his unstripped con-
dition is a figure that the eye of an artist would de-
light to dwell u[)on. His only rival is a lady who
is now on exhil)ition in England and whose breast
and upper and lower linil)s are covered with tattoo-
ing. I do not know her history, but she probably
submitted to the process to make money out of
it. Dr. Lacassagne, a French physician, has pub-
lished a book on the habit of tattooing as
practised in the French army. Tliere are profes-
sional tattooers in Paris and Lyons who charge half a
franc for each design. Generally the tattooer has car-
toons on paper and reproduces these on the skin by a
mechanical i)rocess. Large designs cost a good deal ;
a big representation of an Indian holding up the flag
of the United States costs the decorated person fif-
teen francs. China ink is the coloring substance pre-
ferred, touched up with vermilion. Dr. Lacassagne
has collected one thousand throe luuidnKl and thirty-
three designs, tattooed on three hundred and seventy-
ciirht members of the Second African Battalion or on men
imder arrest in military j)risons. Many were tattooed
on every part of the body except the inner side of the
thighs. Patriotic and religious designs and inscrip-
tions amounted to ninety-one. There were two hun-
IN THE MENAGERIE. 593
dred and eii^hty amorous and erotic devices and three
hundred and forty-four works of pure fantasy, such
as ladies driving in a carriage, the horses plunging and
servants rushing to their heads. The great efforts of
art are reserved for the surfaces of the breast and
back. The subjects of many of the drawings are best
left undescribed, the imagination of a dissipated sol-
dier being quite savage in its purity. Among pa-
triotic and religious emblems are cited two devils, nine
theological virtues, six crucifixes, two sisters of char-
ity, three heads of Prussians, not flattered, and five
portraits of ideal girls of Alsace, with no fewer than
thirty-four busts of the republic. Among animals the
lion and the serpent are the favorite totems. Among
flowers the pansy is generally preferred. The sesthetic
classes will be grieved to hear that not a single lily a^3-
pears, and there was only one daisy. Among myth-
ological subjects the sirens are the greatest favorites ;
next comes Bacchus with his pards, Venus, Apollo and
Cupid.
Gen. Tom Thumb and his agreeable little wife are
once more swiniring around the sawdust circle with
their old friend Barnum. Gen. Thumb is the most
successful dwarf the world has ever seen. He is rich
and as happy as if he and his wife were as tall as
Captain and Mrs. Bates, the giant and giantess whose
immense forms loom up above the crowds that throng
the menagerie tent. I have written elsewhere about
captain and his wife.
"Tummy T'um is ze worst blufi" at pokair I ever
saw," said Campanini one day, in a confidential mood ;
" I ride wiz heem in sefenty-seex from Pittsburg to
Veeling, and he loose me elefen dollars on a pair of
deuces. Ze Generale is a bad man at ze national
game."
594 IX TIIK MENAOEIIIE.
Campanini, it is well known, is exceedingly economi-
cal, and the loss of eleven dollars he gulped down as
well as he could, sinking it away below the region of
his lower rejjistcr. It was a misfortune he will never
1)C able to forget entirely, but General Thomas Thumb
is a perfect basilisk to the distinguished tenor. When-
ever their shows exhibit in the same town the singer
looks up the dwarf and challenges him to a game of
chance. They last met in St. Louis, a short time
before Campanini's departure for Europe, and oddly
enough they settled on a game of billiards, although
probably for prudential reasons on Campanini's
part, as it was impossible for Tom Thumb to win such
a disastrous sum as eleven dollars from the Italian at
that manly game.
The game took place in the principal billiard-room of
St. Louis, and it was rendered doubly interesting l)y the
fact that Charles Maplcson, faultlessly attired, kept
the talley. A great crowd was soon attracted into the
room, and the only regret of the two distinguished
players was that they had not charged a general
admission, reserved seats extra.
As the game proceded Campanini grew excited, and
the sonorous notes of his full, rich voice resounded
through the corridors of the great hotel. This, in
turn, irritated the General, and his weak, })iping tones,
with a tinge of anger in them, contrasted .strangely
with the Italian's. The crowd laughed, and Cam-
panini unconsciously exhibited some of tiie richest
treasures of his stock-in-trade, while the General grew
desperate and absolutely tried to reach across the
table.
♦' Fcfteen," shouted Campanini.
Failing in his first etfort, the General again tried to
accomplish the impossible.
IN THE MENAGERIE. 595
" Fefteen," Campanini shouted once more.
Just theu Charles stepped forward and offered to
lift up little Hop-o' My Thumb.
" Who is playing this game, anyhow? " the General
fiercely demanded.
♦* Fefteen," again shouted Campanini.
"That makes three times the bloody Italian has
said < fefteen,' " Thumb remarked, reo^aining his lost
temper, and then to Campanini' s dismay he proceeded
leisurely to win the game.
" Elefen dollars at pokair, twenty-five cents at bil-
liards — elefen twenty-five," the tenor kept muttering
during the rest of the day, and that night at the opera
Col. Mapleson could not understand why Campanini
was so hoarse.
The "Wild Ape of Borneo " seems to be quite an
intelligent animal and displays first-rate taste in choos-
ing his company. He has learned by experience that
girls were made to be huirged and kissed. Through
the bars of his cage he has seen many a rural lass's
waist in the power of a plough-boy's arm, and watched
their lips meet in a smack tliat more than discounted
the old minstrel joke about the sound resembling the
noise made by a cow pulling her hoof out of the mud.
It was no wonder, then, that when the "wild ape" got
out of his cage, while the circus was exhibiting down
South, he forgot all his Borneo breeding, and made a
rush for one of the prettiest girls under the flapping
canvas. He got one arm around her neck and with
the paw that was free caught her chignon and made a
desperate effort to obtain a kiss. The girl's escort
was at first terrified and felt like climbino^ one of the
quarter-poles, all the females in the neighborhood
shrieked, and the males began to dive under their
seats. At last a gentleman rushed up with drawn re-
590
IN THE MENAGERIE.
volver and fired a shot close to the ape's ear, where-
upon he at once abandoned his osculatory efforts, and
made his escape.
A curiosity that has been before the pnblic for
almost twenty years is the *' two-headed woman ,"
Millie Christine. The fact of the matter is tiiat there
are two women joined together l)olow the waist, but as
they have a sinirle piiy.sical organization their manager
has seen fit to call them one. This freak of nature is
more astonishing than were the Siamese twins or the
Ilunirarian sisters. Tiio two-headed woman was born
IN THE MENAGERIE. 597
of slave parents on the plantation of Alexander McCoy
near the town of Whiteville, Columbus County, North
Carolina, on July 11, 1851. Prior to this Millie
Christine's mother had given birth to five boys and
two girls, all of ordinary size and without deformity.
The " tAvo-headed woman" will be best understood
by redding an extract from a lecture by Prof. Pan-
coast of the Jeiferson Medical College, Philadelphia.
The Professor examined this curiosity and discussed
upon the subject before a large gathering of medical
men. In introducing Millie and Christine, he said he
considered them the most interesting monstrosity of
their class that has ever come under the notice of
scientific men, far more interesting than the Siamese
twins. In the midst of his discourse the young ladies
entered, clad in green silk on their two bodies, pretty
little bronze boots on their four feet, white kids on
their four hands. They moved forward like an ex-
panded V, with a crab-like movement that was not
ungraceful. Born back-to-back; the Professor ex-
plained that the natural desire of each to walk face
forward had twisted them in their present position.
Separate entities, separate individualities, each can
pursue separate lines of thought and conversation inde-
pendent of the other. From habit their appetites call
for food and drink at the same time. All the ills of
flesh are not, however, necessarily theirs in common.
One may have the toothache and the other be free
from any ache. But in the examination conducted to-
day the Professor discovered a remarkable development
of sensibility since his previous examination, eight'years
ago. Touchingthem on any extreme of the body, on any
foot, for example, both in common were conscious of
the touch. Christine has been and is now the larger
and stronger of the two. As children they used to
598 IX THE MENAOEUIE.
have little struggles and (quarrels for suprcinacy, l)ut,
as they could not got away from each other, they early
concluded that the best way to get along in their novel
path through life was to yield to each other. Their
present happiness and allcction for each other is an
example for couples who are 3'^oked together in marital
bonds. Sometimes Christine rolls over Millie in bed
without awakening her. Both can sleep separately.
They can stand and walk on their outside legs, but
they prefer to walk on all fours. Millie cannot lift up
Christine's legs, or Christine Millie's legs. Since the
Hungarian sisters, there has been no similar case re-
ported reaching adult life for one hundred and seventy
years. The bond of union between these, which is
just above the bones of the spine, is chiefly cartilagin-
ous, but the spines are so closely approximated that
there is an osseous union between them. To the ques-
tion by Professor Pancoast, whether either was engaged
to bo married, each denied the soft impeachment with
decision, though the Professor explained that physi-
cally there are no serious objections to the marriage
of Her or Them ; but morally there was a most de-
cided one. Durino the Professor's lecture the Misses
Christine Millie and Millie Christine api)eared very
much interested in tho diagnosis of their sinirular con-
dition and evidenced their superior intelligence by
their apt and ready answers.
Turning from the human to the zoological branch of
the exhibition, we find the usual assortment of animals
from the moidvcy up to Jumbo, the elephant, who is only
one of a dozen in the possession of his owner. All jier-
forming elephants arc well trained, and there is scarcely
one that cannot ligure in the ring, responding to the
good advice of the trainer, as the keepers often style
themselves. The monkeys are always a source of
IN THE MENAGEUIE.
599
amusement, and never loose their drawing power.
Thej are intelligent animals, but the inclination they
have for mischief makes them quite dangerous. They
tell a funny story about an actor out West who had a
pet monkey that he carried with him wherever he
JUMBO.
went, even to the theatre. Jocko appeared to be per-
fectly harmless, and as he had been at the theatre
night after night without making trouble, his master
never dreamed that he would do anything out of the
way. Imagine his surprise therefore when one night
as he was in the midst of a comedy part down came
600 IN TIIK MENAORRTE.
Jocko tVom the " flies " with :i false face he had filched
out of the property-room. His appearance brought
down the house and the play was spoiled.
A traveller in Japan writing about the amusements
there tells us of a very remarkable Sigmian specimen.
He says : "There is an unpretentious show, costing
one cent to witness, that is full of interest to those
who have leanings toward Darwin's theory of the
origin of mankind. It has a trained monkey of no
mean attainments. The creature stands upright about
three feet high, a well-developed and intellectual-
looking monkey, which \v\\\ go through all the postur-
ing known to the famous India-rul)ber man, and some
that that famous individual could not throw himself
into, but the crowning feat that he has been taughf i»
to dance the Ja})anese dance to perfection, taking the
exact step, having the correct sway of the body, keep-
ing time faultlessly, and using his arms and hands in
exact accord with the movements of the feet. It is
difficult to realize that a dumb brute can be educated
as completely as this creature is. Oscar Wilde and
this monkey would make a strong partnership in the
platform business, for the monkey is certaiidy an
lesthete — " a darling and a daisy."
If any reader wants to l)uy a menagerie he can ob-
tain his curiosities from dealers in New York or Europe.
He must have plenty of money though, as the ])riees
of animals range high, as will be seen in the following
figures: An elephant may be had for $1G,00() ; lion
and lioness with cage, $9,000; sea cow, $8,000; })air
of large leopards and two smaller ditto, $5,000 ; Aus-
tralian kangaroo, $2,000 ; Australian wombat, $12,000 ;
ostrich, $1,000; rf)yal tiger, $r),000; sacred camel,
$2,000 ; rare birds, monkeys and lesser animals, in-
IN THE MENAGERIE. 601
eluding those of American nativity, $20,000 ; total,
$60,000.
Among the rarest animals, says a writer on this sub-
ject, are the hippopotamus and the gnu, or horned-
horse. A first-class hippopotamus is worth five or six
thousand dollars, an elephant from three to six thou-
. sand dollars, a giraffe is worth about three thousand
dollars, a Bengal tiger or tigress will bring two thou-
sand dollars, leopards vary from six to nine hundred
dollars, a hyena is worth about five hundred dollars,
while an ostrich rates at three hundred dollars. The
price-list shows that, although expenses may be heavy,
receipts are proportionately large, and that it does not
require many large beasts to make a good business for
one trader. A New York house in three years sold
twenty lions, twelve elephants, six giraffes, four Bengal
tigers, eight leopards, eight hyenas, twelve ostriches
and two hippopotami, being a total business of about
$112,000, or over $37,000 per annum, in the line of
larger beasts alone, exclusive of the smaller show-
beasts, such as monkeys, and exclusive also of birds,
which latter items more than double the amount given.
Gnus, or horned-horses, have come into great demand
of late years, both from their oddity and rarity, and
are valued at seventeen or eighteen hundred dollars
apiece. An elephant is always in demand, and sells,
whether it be male or female, large or small, " trick"
or otherwise. Ostriches, though heavy eaters, are not
very expensive, as they have cast-iron stomachs and
digest stone, glass, iron, or almost anything else tha
one chooses to give them, though they are judges
of good meat when they get it. They are not the only
creatures that eat glass. Heller or Houdin — I forget
which of these magicians — found a taste among Ori-
ental jugglers for pounded glass, which they ate in
602 IN THE MENAGERIE.
largo qunntitics. A trial by the Caucasian trickster
developed the fact that glass was not only not injuri-
ous when taken in reasojuiblc doses, but that it served as
an appetizer, stimulating the stomach to hunger after
food. There are two species of ostrich known to the
trade, the black and the gray ; both are very strong,
fleet, and practically untamable. Lions, tigers and
leopards form constituent attractions of almost all
menageries, and are too familiar to need description.
It may be here remembered, however, that peo})le who
deal with these creatures find that there is compara-
tively little danger to themselves to be dreaded from
either lions or lionesses. These animals never attack
any human being, save when excessively hungry ; and
when enraged, from any cause, always show such visi-
ble signs as put their keepers on their guard ; whereas,
the opposite of these statements is true in regard to
tigers and leopards — the latter especially, which are
regarded by those in the trade as the most dangerous,
cruel and treacherous of all the beasts with which they
are brought in contact. American lions or jaguars,
and American or Brazilian tigers are very fierce, un-
tamable and stronir, altliou<j:h inferior in size to the
lion or tiger proper. Of monkeys and baboons little
more than has already been saiil need be repeated here.
There are al)out one hundred and fifty dillerent species
of these creatures, the most intelligent of which is the
ringtailod monkey, and the most stupid, that variety
known as the lion monkey, from its being gifted,
instead of brains, with a long mane. The variety of
deer and antelope are numerous, and always find ready
purchasers ; the genuine antelope will bring two or
three hundred dollars in the market.
A show of wild animals is one thing, and a very
good thing sometimes ; but the same number of wild
IN THE MENAGERIE. 603
beasts when not in show — but merely in winter quar-
ters or out and awaiting sale, presents a different, and,
sometimes, a curious spectacle. Thus in a certain
back yard in the city of New York, as singular a sight
is presented to the lover of animal life as is afforded
probably in the range of the whole world. You enter
by a low doorway, and at first glance you see only a
number of boxes, with iron bars in front — amateur
cages in fact — and arranged alongside of each other,
just as cases maybe, without the slightest order or
general arrangement. If you look a second time at
these boxes you will be made aware of the fact that
they are inhabited by certain moving animals ; for
pairs of bright eyes will gleam out upon you through
the iron bars and occasional switching of some beastly
tails against the sides of the cages will become audible,
as will every now and then a deep smothered roar.
Inspecting the box-cages or cage-boxes, more closely
you will see, further, that one of them contains a three-
year old lion, just getting his young moustache, or,
what answers the same purpose to a lion — his mane.
Next box to this you will find a lioness, about the same
age as her mate, a fine specimen of African female,
who seems very much attached to a dog that shares
her cage with her in perfect harmony, at least so far
as the lioness is concerned, for she does all she can to
live at peace with the dog, yielding to his wishes in all
particulars, giving up her meat whenever he takes a
fancy to it, and getting out of his way whenever he
wishes to walk about, although doggy does not seem
to be a very amiable partner, and every now and then
gives the lioness a bit of his mind by biting her in the
ear. A little beyond this strange couple lie two more
boxes — the upper one containing a pair of young
hunting leopards, as playful as young kittens, which
G04 IN THR MKNAOERtE.
spend their time in culling to the cats of the noighbor-
hood, the lower one being the scene of the imprison-
ment of a full-grown, very handsome, very cross
leopardess, who is always snarling and seeking whom
or what she may devour. This latter beat^t has a
special antipathy to a young lad who has charge of her,
and tries half a dozen times a day to make mince-meat
of him. On the opposite side are a number of boxes,
containing monkeys of various species and baboons.
One of these monkeys is a jovial female, christened
Victoria, and is one of the most expert pickpockets in
New York, which is saying a great deal. Vic can
relieve a visitor of his watch and chain or pocket-book
in a manner most refreshing to a monkey and moralist
to witness, and although as ugly as sin is as quick as
lightning. Next door to this klei)tomaniac ape is a
hai)py family of monkeys — father, mother and baby —
who live together lively as clams at the turn of tide.
On the ground, at a little distance, lies another box,
which contains a monster bal)oon. This fellow is
called Jonas, and is, without exception, the ugliest
individual in existence to which the Almighty has ever
given a shape — such as it is. These big apes are fre-
quently palmed off on the public for gorillas ; they are
strong as giants, gentle as lambs, and can be taught
tricks like dogs. As in the case of canines, severity
and kindness are resorted to in training them. Prof.
Harry Parker, in speaking to mo about educating his
dogs, said he rarely used the Avhij) upon them, but
endeavored, by i)roperIy feeding and speaking kind
words to them, to make them obedient to his com-
mand, still the whip must be used. Dogs that hop
around on two f(!et have their little limbs lashed from
under them until they almost feel the sting of the raw-
hide in tiie tone of the trainer's voice. Clown doirs.
IN THE MENAGERIE. 605
which have recently been prominent features of circuses
and variety shows, are taught to go through every
article that is put down upon the floor by their
masters ; that is why they squirm through a hoop, run
under and overturn chairs, pass under bundles and
upset the leaping basket that is used in dog circuses.
Prof. Parker and Prof. Willis Cobb, I may here
remark, are the best dog-trainers in the country, and
both have large and fine collections of educated cani-
nes.
In the rear portion of the yard which we have been
visiting is an inclosure, in which three or four horned
horses or ponies, called gnus, are digesting their
rations ; next to these is a case in which is confined a
fretful porcupine, who shows his bristles on the least
provocation, and sometimes when there is no insult
meant at all. The cataloo;ue of cao;es or boxes is com-
pleted by that in which is held in duress a Brazilian
tiger of the fiercest possible description, who does
nothing but glare upon you and want to eat you. The
meat-eaters in the collection are fed only once a day —
at noon — and cost about a dollar per day to feed ; the
fruit-eaters, like the elephant, eat all the time, as fancy
prompts ; while the vegetarians, like the monkeys, take
their three square meals a day. As a rule, all animals
enjoy a better average of health than man, because
they have no acquired tastes or dissipated habits. The
elephant lives for centuries ; the parrot is a centena-
rian, while the lion lives but twenty years or so. On
the whole, the average life of man is greater than that
of the majority of the so-called beasts, though their
average of health exceeds his.
Wax- works, of one kind or other, enter into the dis-
play made in the menagerie tent ; but the figures all
seem broken or enfeebled by long usage, and instead of
(506 IN THE MENAGERIE.
being; attractive, many of them arc repulsive. How
different from Madame Tnssaud's exhibition — the
prototype of all the efforts that have been made in the
wax-work line ! A correspondent who visited this dis-
play many years ago, when the display hud a world-
wide fame, wrote : —
" Madame Tnssaud's famous exhibition of wax stat-
uary and works in wax afforded me a very entertaining
evening's occupation. Here are full-length portraits
in wax of all the notables of the world ; Queen Victo-
ria, Prince Ali)ert, the royal children, George IH.,
Queen Charlotte, George IV., William IV., George
II., Louis XIV., Emperor Louis Napoleon and his
empress in their bridal costume, Henry VIII., Cardi-
nal "Wolsey, all the present sovereigns of P^urope, Kos-
suth, Gen. Tom Thumb, etc., nurnl)ering nearly two
hundred figures in all, so artistically arranged and so
well executed that the effect upon the visitor on enter-
ing is the same as on comini; into a jjrand drawing-room
filled with noble ladies and gentlemen. So perfect is
everything that you look to hear the figures speak, and
can hardly convince yourself that they do not move.
"The second room of Madame Tnssaud's exhibition
is called the Robe Room, which contains the figure of
George IV. wearing the order of the Garter. This
robe was worn by his majesty in the i)rocession to
Westminster Abbey, at his coronation. To the right
of this is the robe the same monarch Avore at the open-
ing of Parliament, and on tlie left the robe worn hy
the King in returning to Westminster Abbey after the
coronation. The cost of these three robes was about
$90,000. The third room of the exhibition is called
the Golden Chamber, and contains relics of the Em-
peror Napoleon, among which is the camp bedstead
used by Napoleon during his seven years at St. Helena,
IN THE MENAGERIE. 607
with the mattress and pillow on which he died ; the
coronation robe of Napoleon and the robe of the Em-
press Josephine ; the celebrated flag of Ell)a ; the
sword worn by the Emperor during his campaign in
Egypt, and many other relics of him. In another room
is the carriage in which Napoleon made the campaign
of Russia, and which was captured on the evening of
the battle of Waterloo ; also the carriage he used at
St. Helena, in which, of course, I sat down, according
to custom.
" In another room are many relics of the French
Ee volution, among which are the instruments by which
the unfortunate Louis XIV. was beheaded, as also
Robespierre and others. These are but a few of the
many curious and interesting objects to be seen at this
exceedingly entertaining exhibition ; and I passed sev-
eral hours here, quite lost in the examination of the
collection and the recollections which the various arti-
cles awakened.
The menagerie, no matter how small or how exten-
sive it may be, always has much within its cages and
lying around under its canvas to interest young and
old alike. It is like a volume of natural history that
may be forever studied without exhausting the interest
that attaches to it, and the knowledge contained in
it. Thrown down after a single perusal, the book is
picked up again and again, and each time its pictures
and pages seem as fresh and entertaining as they were
in the beginning. So, too, the collection of curiosi-
ties, that now-a-days form a very important part of
every tent-show, never loses its attraction for the
public. Gray-haired men who in boyhood looked,
open-mouthed and astonished, into the den of lions,
still find the same pleasure in contemplating these
608 IN THE MENAGERIE.
wonderful beasts from a safe distance, and take dclii^ht
in making their children acquainted with them. The
tangled forests and matted iunsjles of new re2:ions are
constantly giving up new specimens of wild animal
life ; and with the old reliable attractions still plen-
tiful, and startling novelties occasionally coming to
the surface, there is every reason to believe that the
menagerie will retain its i)resent hold upon the hearts
of the people, and last as long as there is canvas in
the world to cover one or color enoujjh to fill an ordi-
nary stand of bills.
Now we have seen about all there is to see. Passing
out and by the side-show blower with his fat woman
and lean man, his glass blower and Irish Circassian
girls, his juggler, and the heartless l)and of music he
has playing at one end of his dirty tent ; we move
down the street, the sound of the side-show music dies
out, the canvas fades behind the house-tops, and we
have left the show world with all its sunshine and
shadow, its laughter and tears.
UCSB LIBRARY
coi.Tu.rr,!!""'®''^'*^ °^ California
305 Dp 1 "n"^^'^^^'- ^'BRARY FACILITY
305 De Neve Drive - Parking Lot 17 . Box 951 ^ra
LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA 90095 1388
I
P
I
-, tf^i^
UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY
AA 000 253 923 7